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This  book  must  not 
be  taken  fro  m  the 
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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


https://archive.org/details/nearnaturesheartOOjack 


THE  AUTHOR  IN  HIS  RETREAT. 

Note  the  string  connecting  with  the  camera  outside,  which  captures  the  birds  and 
little  animals  on  their  well  filled  table.  (See  pages  22  and  23.) 


NEAR  NATURE’S  HEART 

A  VOLUME  OF  VERSE 


CRAWFORD  JACKSON 

ATLANTA,  GA. 

and 


GUILFORD,  N.  C. 


foote's  davies  company,  printers,  Atlanta 
GULBENkVngrav1ng  COMPANY,  ENGRAVERS.  ATLANTA 


COPYRIGHT  1923 
BY 

CRAWFORD  JACKSON 
(all  rights  reserved) 


DEDICATED 


TO 

EVERY  CHILD 


“Philosophy,  to  an  attentive  ear, 

Clearly  points  out,  not  in  one  part  alone, 

How  Imitative  Nature  takes  her  course 
From  the  celestial  mind,  and  from  its  art; 

And  when  her  laws  the  Stagirite  *  unfolds, 

Not  many  leaves  scann’d  o’er,  observing  well 
Thou  shalt  discover,  that  thy  art  on  her 
Obsequious  follows,  as  the  learner  treads 
In  his  instructor’s  steps;  so  that  your  art 
Deserves  the  name  of  second  in  descent 
From  God.” 

Dante  Alighieri. 


*  Aristotle s  Physics. 


FOREWORD 

The  great  artist  is  one  whose  whole  body  be¬ 
comes  a  living  soul;  whose  eye  gets  glimpses  into 
the  heart  of  Nature,  with  visions  of  the  Super¬ 
natural;  whose  ear  hears  their  inner  music,  and 
whose  hand  produces  ecstatic  expression  of  their 
central  force  in  some  revelation  of  Beauty.  And 
to  make  his  art  more  real,  more  nearly  perfect, 
Beauty  more  beautiful,  such  artist  by  contrast  of¬ 
ten  depicts  or  suggests  the  deadly  but  doomed  dis¬ 
cords  of  life. 

Any  inspiring  touch  I  have  with  Nature  makes 
me  less  than  half  content  with  the  best  I  can  say 
of  her.  Beyond  my  increasing  love  for  the  rich,  old 
Mother— yet  eternally  young  and  myriad  formed — 
I  am  deeply  indebted  to  F.  Schuyler  Mathews  and 
his  charming  “Field  Book  of  Wild  Birds  and  Their 
Music,”  especially  in  suggestions  and  some  illustra¬ 
tions  for  the  “Birds’  Orchestra.”  Other  acknowl¬ 
edgements  are  made  elsewhere  in  this  little  volume 
of  verse,  which  chances  to  be  my  first,  and  there¬ 
fore  subject  to  the  severer  criticism. 

C.  J. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

The  Birds’  Orchestra .  7 

My  Prayer  To  Truth .  M 

A  Scene  in  Washington,  N.  C. .  16 

Little  Naples  by  the  Sea .  J7 

The  Family  of  My  Friend  Jones .  1 7 

The  King’s  Marriage .  19 

The  Hermit  Thrush .  19 

My  Retreat .  23 

The  Mocking-Bird .  24 

The  Jay  and  I — A  Dialogue .  26 

Nature’s  Heart .  27 

A  Nigger  and  a  Mule .  28 

Virginia’s  Natural  Bridge .  3° 

The  Might  of  Matutinal  Music .  3° 

A  Perpetual  King .  31 

The  Cotton  Gin  .  32 

The  Cotton  Mill .  32 

My  Own  Little  Girl  .  32 

My  Butterfly .  33 

Was  That  Somebody  I?  .  34 

My  Sabbath  Sermon .  35 

Pilot  Mountain .  36 

Her  Prison  Life .  37 

Aurelius  Augustinus .  38 

O,  That  Income  Tax ! .  40 

In  Florida .  41 

Two  Little  Orphans .  42 

Trouble  and  Play  .  43 

Some  Small  Surprises .  43 

The  Rhythm  Llniversal .  44 

The  Stone  Crosses  and  the  Fairies .  45 

The  Sun  Flower .  46 

Colonel  Diamond  and  Grand-daughter .  47 

The  Wild  Wood .  48 

The  Beginning  of  Things .  49 

The  End  of  Things  .  49 

When  the  Junco  Comes .  50 

James  Bradley  Jackson .  51 

A  Story  of  Colonial  Times .  53 

“Come  on  wid  yer  Money  fur  Me” .  55 

Good  Out  of  Evil .  56 

Christmas  .  57 

Mrs.  Josephine  F.  Hamill  .  58 

A  Chick’s  Cry .  59 

The  Kid  and  the  Cop .  59 

The  Over  Favored  and  The  Chanceless  Child .  61 

The  Slanderer .  61 

The  World’s  Greatest  Egotist .  62 

Little  River  Royal .  63 

Give  Me  Both .  64 

Manifold  Beauty  and  the  Man .  64 

Chimney  Rock .  66 

The  Elephant  Dance .  67 

Least  Yet  Greatest .  67 

Old  Ship  Church .  67 

A  Little  Toast  to  the  Men  of  the  Press .  68 

Mother  Indeed .  68 

Nathan  O’Berry  .  68 

The  Bishop’s  Garden .  69 

My  Triolet .  70 

Ye  Bonny  Boys .  71 

A  Ballade  to  the  Girls .  71 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

A  Mountain  Top  View .  72 

One  Aged  John  Smith  and  His  Youthful  Confessions .  73 

Ode  on  Woodrow  Wilson  and  the  League  of  Nations .  74 

Another  Birthday  .  77 

Oh,  Baby  Mine .  77 

The  Snake  That’s  King .  78 

The  Heart  of  France .  79 

The  Red  Maple .  81 

A  Sonnet  to  Mrs.  O.  C.  Bullock .  81 

The  Strikers .  81 

November  Gloom .  82 

James  Mitchell  Rogers .  83 

Erwin  Holt  .  83 

Just  an  Introduction .  83 

Judge  Franklin  Chase  Hoyt .  84 

A  Little  Index  of  the  Coming  Day .  85 

Winged  Tourists .  86 

How  My  Easter  Dawned .  86 

Helen  Keller .  88 

The  Dancing  Tassel .  89 

Walter  Malone .  91 

The  Dutiful  Flower .  92 

My  Holiday .  92 

The  Aeolian  Harp .  92 

The  God-Man  and  Myself .  93 

Death’s  Doom .  94 

The  Dying  Year .  96 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 


The  Author  in  his  Retreat . Frontispiece 

Bob  White  in  Colors .  6 

Cat  Bird .  7 

Young  Screech  Owl .  8 

Humming  Bird  .  8 

White  Throated  Sparrows .  9 

Blue  Bird  and  Family . < .  io 

Young  Male  Cardinal .  n 

Thrasher’s  Admiration .  12 

Cardinal  in  Colors .  12 

A  Scene  in  Washington,  N.  C .  16 

Baby  Ambitious  to  Rise .  18 

Veery  Celebrating  the  King’s  Marriage .  19 

Hermit  Thrush  in  Colors .  21 


Dove  and  Bluebirds,  Swan,  Zebra  and  Colt,  Macaw,  Chipmunk,  Young  Pet  22 

Thrasher  .  22 

The  Author’s  Retreat  in  the  Wild  Wood .  23 

Young  Green  Heron .  23 

The  Mocking  Bird  in  Colors .  25 

The  Jay  Bird  and  1 .  26 

A  Nigger  and  a  Mule .  29 

Virginia’s  Natural  Bridge  .  30 

A  Perpetual  King,  Cotton  Gin,  A  Cotton  Mill .  31 

My  Own  Little  Girl .  33 

My  Butterfly .  33 

A  Babe,  Later  an  Imprisoned  Boy .  34 

Feeding  Young  Mocking  Bird .  35 

Big  Pinnacle  on  Pilot  Mountain .  36 

Aurelius  Augustinus .  38 

Two  Little  Orphans .  42 

Trouble  and  Play .  43 

Nature’s  Fairy  Crosses .  46 

Col.  Diamond  and  Grand-daughter .  47 

The  Wild  Wood .  48 

A  Pre-Revolutionary  Stone  Mansion,  7  Years  Being  Built .  53 

“Rock  Ribbed  Pen”  in  which  Miss  Martin  was  placed  by  the  Tories  ...  54 

Blind  Negro .  56 

Mistletoe .  57 

The  Kid  and  the  Cop . 59-60 

New  River,  Fort  Lauderdale,  Fla. .  63 

Water  Fall  Near  Tories’  Den,  and  Beach  Scene .  64 

Chimney  Rock  in  North  Carolina .  66 

The  Elephant  Dance  and  Old  Ship  Church .  67 

The  Bishop’s  Garden . t .  69 

My  Triolet .  70 

Lookout  Mountain .  72 

Woodrow  Wilson  .  75 

O  Baby  Mine .  77 

The  Snake  That’s  King .  78 

Notre  Dame .  79 

Miss  Cameron  and  Billy .  85 

Judge  Franklin  Chase  Hoyt .  84 

Ann  Gray  and  Pet  Macaw .  85 

The  Tots  That  Turned  the  Tide .  87 

Walter  Malone .  90 


BOB  WHITE. 


By  F.  Schuyler  Matthews 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


7 


tBtrftr/  ODrrijPstra 

THE  DAWN 

“Start-right,  you-hob-bright !”  ’Twas  fluted  so  clear, 

It  wakened  the  songsters  and  startled  my  ear, 

As  the  King  of  the  morning  repelled  the  dark  night, 

And  the  reveille  sounded,  “All-right!  Bob-Bob-White!” 

The  Mocking-bird  earliest  answered  the  call, 

And  gladly  his  echoes  were  welcomed  by  all, 

As  each  took  his  place  in  the  Nature-trained  choir, 

And  bird  after  bird  began  tuning  his  lyre. 

The  songsters  had  started  a  sweet  roundelay, 

When  suddenly  up  bounced  a  meddlesome  Jay. 

He  wanted  to  sing, 

This  feathered  thing; 

Or  brilliant  colors  to  impress. 

With  spontaneous  wantonness; 

With  spirit  too  to  over-rule, 

Like  the  self-important  fashion  fool. 

In  soft  monotone  crooned  the  Black-billed  Cuckoo, 

“Tho  not  much  at  singing,  I’ll  surely  beat  you.  ’ 

And  Flicker  to  Jay  proclaimed, 

“ No-cheer  from  me,  no-cheer !” 

While  the  Hooded  Warbler,  “You- 
have-no-business-here” ! 

“I’m  a  blooming  Jay, 

I’ll  have  my  way, 

Dj-a-y!  dj-a-y!  dj-a-y!” 

Then  spoke  that  brave  bird,  the 
yellow-breast  Chat: 

“Cop!  Cop!  Shut-him-in-prison-and- 

send-for-the-cat.”  ,  , 

Cat  Bird.  Photo  by  the  Author. 

And  King  bird  commanded  with  spirit  irate, 

“Away  with  you,  Blue  Jay — or  I’ll  pounce  on  your  pate. 

And  the  Jay  slipped  away, 

With  a  sure  word  of  peace, 

For  such  glad  release: 

“Ge-rul-lup ! 

Jig’s-all-up !” 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


o 


o 


Then  Wisdom’s  proud  bird,  that  old 
mystical  fake, 

While  breakfasting  late  on  a  daring 
young  snake, 

Cried  “Boo  to  y-o-u,  hoot  for  y-o-u! 
Who-whoo — are-y-o-u  ?  ” 

Till  down  in  my  heart  I  felt  humbled 
anew. 


But  hope  was  revived  by  an  echo  of 
Night — 

For  Night  has  her  echoes  and  pledges 
of  Light — 

“You  can,  if  you  will,  a  high  mis¬ 
sion  fulfill,'’ 

Insistently  whistled  the  lone  Whip- 
poor-will. 


When  wide  circling  throngs  made  the  welkin  resound 
With  the  liveliest  chatter,  “Let  joy  go  round.” 


The  sun  poured  forth  his  flood  of  pure  gold 
On  Nature’s  great  chorister  birdlings  of  old, 


YOUNG  SCREECH  OWL. 
Photo  by  Rev.  Wallace  Rogers. 


Then  all  grew  still 
O’er  vale  and  hill, 

And  the  echo  came  back: 
“You  can,  if  you  will.” 


Then  flashed  through  the  air  a  ruby  tinged  light, 
Like  an  arrow  of  glory  soon  lost  to  my  sight. 


When  lo!  it  returned — a  bird  that  ne’er 
sings, 

Though  his  music  is  borne  in  the  hum  of 
his  wings: 

“I  fly,  yet  rest, 

In  swiftest  quest, 

Of  flowers  best, 

With  their  sweetest,  nectared  off’rings.” 

And  my  heart  sang  out  with  a  jubilant  cry, 
“0  for  poise  and  feasting  in  tension  so  high.” 


HUMMING  BIRD. 

By  F.  Schuyler  Matthews. 


While  the  Humming  bird  sipped  his  choicest  wine, 
The  musicians  came  to  a  sudden  pause; 

Each  singer’s  eye  was  a-gaze  like  mine — 

And  the  wonder  of  bird-land  received  their  applause. 


The  fun-makers  followed,  the  gay  Bobolinks, 
With  comical  solo  and  musical  kinks! 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


9 


“You’d  better  think, 

Flippant  Chewink, 

’Tis  the  finest  of  sport,” 

Sang  Bobolink. 

And  said  Bob,  “Be  true  to  me,  be  true  to  me; 

Kick  your  slipper,  kick  your  slipper;* 

Be  true  to  me — old  Nick’s  the  whipper!” 

And  over  the  pond,  on  bending  cat-tails, 

The  red-shouldered  Black-birds  were  piping  their  gales, 

As  they  swung  to  and  fro  with  a  blithe  “Con-quer-ee,” 
And  their  mates  made  reply — “O’er-the-lea,  come-to-me!” 

From  the  Meadow-lark’s  throat  came  a  livelier  strain, 
“All  hail  to  the  bridegroom  and  those  in  his  train; 

“And  greet  the  fair  bride  in  her  gay-feathered  veil, 

She’ll  build  a  snug  nest  for  the  babies — all  hail!” 

From  Oriole  there,  like  a  glad  whistling  hoy, 

Came  fragments  of  melody  thrilling  with  joy: 

“I  sing  as  I  work — 

This  vantage  men  shirk— 

And  music  1  blend 

With  care  of  the  children  and  house  that  I  tend.” 

Then  on  came  the  Finches  in  rollicking  glee, 

With  Grosbeak  and  Chippy  and  plaintive  Pewee; 

And  every  one’s  note  rang  as  clear  as  a  bell, 

With  the  swing  of  love’s  passion  and  deep  growing  spell. 

“Per-chick-o-ree ! 

Now,  don’t  you  see 
The  song  in  me 
Is  ecstasy?” 

Thus  jingled  the  Goldfinch  in  musical  run, 

As  he  dipped  up  and  down  in  the  waves  of  the  sun; 

Like  golden-robed,  sable  winged  fairy  he  flew 
Across  his  wide  world  of  cerulean  blue. 


WHITE  THROATED  SPARROWS 
Photo  by  the  Author. 


*As  heard  by  John  Burroughs. 


10 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


The  White-throated  Sparrow,  a  provident  bird, 
Revealed  deepest  wisdom  in  simplest  word ; 

“Sow  wheat  and  sow  plenty — oh  yes,  sow  a  plenty, 
Though  Peverly’s  small  he  has  hunger  of  twenty.” 

“When  the  granary’s  full,  and  reapers  go  feastin’, 

I’ll  cheer  you  ag’in,  with  my  fiddle-in’,  fiddle-in’, 
The  long  hours  through,  a-fiddle-in’,  fiddle-in'.’’* 

A  versatile  singer,  an  artist  o’er  shy, 

Now  uplifted  his  voice  to  his  Maker  on  high. 

No  pause  in  the  rhythm  of  the  Song  Sparrow’s  lay; 
And  I  pondered  and  wondered  as  on  flew  the  day: 
“Is  this  high  Art’s  way?” 

While  still  rolled  his  “swee-e-t,  swee-e-t,  bitter” — f 
The  philosophy  of  life,  from  a  plain,  little  flitter. 

Pond  ring  I  lingered  and  forgot  me  to  eat, 

A  captive  held  fast  in  fair  Nature’s  retreat. 


BLUEBIRD  AND  FAMILY. 

Photo  by  the  Author. 

*This  repeated  paraphrase  is  from  F.  Schuyler  Mathews,  ornithologist  and  musician 
tThe  words  suggested  to  John  Burroughs  by  the  variations  of  the  Song  Sparrow 


I 

.  'Jft  ’  y  ; 

Wlgsmm  "S  \  vwix  i 1 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


11 


The  Oven-bird  graceful,  misnamed  “the  preacher,” 
Proudly  sang  out,  “Em-a-teacher,  a  TEACHER;” 

And  Maryland  Yellow-throat  piped,  “What  a  pity, 
You  can  t  sing  a  sweet,  old-fashioned  ditty! 

What  a  pity!” 

From  the  wayside  just  then  came  a  mocking  “meow;” 
“If  the  rest  of  you  follow,  I’ll  join  in  the  row; 

“And  why  not  now? 

A  fuss  somehow — 

Meow,  meow!” 

But  lo!  the  voice  softened  and  turned  to  a  tune, 
Repeating  the  bird’s  notes  that  glad  day  in  June. 

With  soft-flowing  accent  the  good  Chickadee 
Said  “dear  me,”  and  added  a  sweet  “amity.” 


YOUNG  MALE  CARDINAL  TRYING  TO  LIGHT  ON  BOUQUET  OF  FLOWERS. 

Snapped  by  the  Author. 

And  Blue-Bird’s  grave  “purity,”  Robin  s  gay  “cheer 
Were  songs  as  delightful  as  lovers  may  hear; 

While  Red-headed  Woodpecker,  ever  after  his  rum, 

Kept  beating  and  beating  his  sweet  tree  drum. 

The  Cardinal  came  with  his  bright  crimson  crest, 

And  sang  for  his  bride  as  she  fashioned  her  nest; 


12 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


But  Toxaway’s*  rival  gave  forth  the  echo, 

“Kid-dow,  Kid-dow,  Kid-dow!” 

Now  list  to  the  out-flow  from  the  topmost  tree, 
Coming  down  from  the  Thrasher  in  perfect  frenzy; 

The  birds  and  I  marvelled  as  he  swept  on  alone, 
Now  high,  and  now  low,  now  a  thrilled  overtone. 


THRASHER’S  ADMIRATION. 
Photo  by  Author. 


And  lo!  just  then, 

A  voice — a  Wren, 

From  a  fern -lit  glen, 

Burst  forth  like  a  rippling  fountain  of  life, 

Rebuking  old  Mars  with  his  death-dealing  strife; 

And  it  seemed  that  I  caught  for  the  sons  of  men, 

The  lost  chord  of  an  angel  in  the  song  of  the  Wren. 

Discord  now  from  birds  as  black  as  night: 

“Caw!  Caw!  Caw!'7 
Screamed  a  full  score, 

Or  even  more, 

Till  stones  by  me  hurled  put  them  all  to  flight. 

Again  was  felt  a  pause,  a  silence  deep, 

When  four  of  the  feathered  friends  who  copy  song, 
Were  planning  fain  their  secret,  potent  word, 

Worthy  of  the  wisest  of  mankind; 

The  proud  quartette  then  took  the  airy  stage: 

*Toxaway,  the  Indian’s  name  for  the  Cardinal. 


Cardinal 

By  courtesy  of  Gr.  P.  Putnam  Sons,  Publishers,  and  F.  Schuyler  Matthews, 
Author  of  “Book  of  Birds  For  Young  People.’’ 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


13 


‘They  call  us  imitators  evermore, 

And  this  forever  be  our  life  and  joy, 

For  master  angels  whispered  unto  us, 
‘Follow^  song  and  God,  and  rise  to  life, 

Aye,  ever,  ever  more.’  ” 

HIGH  NOON 

The  sun  had  climbed  high  and  as  birdlings  should  feast, 
My  morsel  I  finished  and  fell  fast  asleep; 

And  dreamed  a  sweet  dream,  so  rich  and  so  deep, 

Till  arches  of  gold  reached  the  rose-portaled  east, 

Aye!  West  wedded  East  and  their  glories  increased — 

A  dream  so  swTeet, 

And  marvelous  meet; 

My  soul  took  wings, 

Though  captive  my  feet, 

And  updifted  high  midst  eternal  springs, 
My  heart  again  heard  an  old,  new  word: 
“Prophetic  and  incomplete 
All  earthly  things.” 

In  bright,  celestial  realm  they  sweeter  sang, 

The  happy  turds  that  blessed  my  spell-bound  soul, 
Upraised  to  that  high  world,  without  a  pang. 

I  saw  a  shining  One  with  mystic  scroll, 

The  which  He,  smiling,  waved,  in  full  control 
Of  birds  and  beings,  translated  from  the  earth, 

From  every  land  to  a  great,  inviting  Goal. 

Enthralled  bv  the  mighty  throng  in  sacred  mirth — 

Ah  now,  me-thought,  has  come  with  joy  my  highest  birth! 

Angels  were  rising,  many  and  swift  and  sheen; 

While  others,  likewise  moving  with  rhythmic  grace, 
Descending  in  sweetest  song,  were  heard  and  seen — 

All  clothed  in  the  beauteous  light  of  the  Father’s  face. 
Those  downward-going  bore,  in  charming  case, 

The  melodies  which  men  and  birds  might  make. 

The  rising  throng  made  perfect  the  chords  a-pace 
Produced  below,  ecstatic  in  their  wide  wake; 

I  longed  to  tarry  ever  there,  without  a  break. 

TWILIGHT 

But  ho!  Presto-“Bob-White !  Bob,  Bob-White!” 

“I  announced  the  morn  and  now  the  nig  ht.” 

Bestirred  in  the  gloaming  by  Bob-White’s  last  call, 

1  awakened  to  music  the  sweetest  of  all. 

The  flutelike  peals  of  the  Thrush  of  the  wood 
Still  bound  me  to  the  world  of  angelhood. 


14 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


But  the  depths  of  my  soul  had  the  holiest  hush, 

As  the  organ  note  rose  of  the  Hermit  Thrush. 

He  climbed  to  the  heights  where  I  too  would  arise, 

But  no  one  may  soar  with  that  pride  of  the  skies. 

I  then  asked  my  heart,  “Pray,  what  is  all  this? 

“Why  experience  birds  such  wonderful  bliss?” 

My  soul  was  on  fire, 

From  Nature’s  great  choir, 

As  the  glad  mounting  symphony 
Climbed  higher  and  higher. 

“Is  it  all  of  this  world,  or  is  it  of  Heaven? 

To  birds  and  to  me  is  this  paradise  given?” 

I  longed  to  understand, 

If  Twas  place  or  state, 

For  all  so  harmonious  and  elate; 

When  responded  a  three-fold,  wondrous  band: 

The  birds  replied, 

“Life,  Life  be  our  earth-celestial  theme;” 

The  angels  cried, 

“Love  and  Beauty  make  any  place  a-gleam;” 

The  great  who’d  died, 

“In  every  state,  our  song  and  service  to  redeem.” 

Lo,  the  shining  One  waved  high  his  mystic  scroll, 

And  many  joined  in  a  sweet  but  thunderous  whole: 
“Music  flows  from  a  vaster,  purer  Stream — 

Know  now,  0  longing  soul, 

The  vital,  eternal  scheme 
Of  Heaven  and  earth, 

From  their  far  off  birth, 

Is  to  reach  on  after  the  deeper,  perfect  Goal.” 

And,  like  the  voice  of  ten  thousand  trumpeters, 

“Alleluia  to  Him  Supreme, 

The  all-embracing,  all-out  giving  Soul!” 

To  this  from  creatures  numberless  rang  out  a  great  “Amen”! 
And  again  from  every  heart  that  sings 
In  creation’s  vast  domain: 

“On,  forever  on,  in  Heaven’s  aureole, 

Let  praise  and  power  roll — 

Alleluia,  Amen!” 

MY  PRAYER  TO  TRUTH 

Take  thou  my  soul,  0  Truth,  and  make  me  whole, 

And  gently  lead  me  on  eternally. 

My  eager  fancy  flies  from  pole  to  pole, 

To  singing  star  and  the  ever  surging  sea — 

0  stay  thou  me! 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


15 


Thru  ages  past  the  search  has  been  for  thee; 

The  sage  and  prophet,  vacillating  King 
And  statesmen  call  aloud  for  liberty 

And  light  and  all  beneath  thy  gracious  wing; 

To  thee  the  poets  sing. 

Yet  of  inquirers  many,  whoso  finds? 

Where  hidest  thou?  Point  me  thy  high  abode. 

Art  thou  in  books?  Ah,  no!  In  these  there  winds 
The  dusty  road  of  men.  Sing  me  thy  ode, 

Thy  perfect  code. 

Thou  art  I  know;  and  sweet  and  pure  thy  balm, 
Which  solaced  oft  my  sorrow-burdened  soul; 

But  leavest  not  the  biding,  crowning  palm, 

Nor  faultless  portion,  pointing  to  thy  goal; 

While  troubles  roll. 

Why,  when  a-thirst  and  hungry,  should  I  wander, 
Some  while  in  want;  anon,  a  feast  most  fine? 

Yet  never  full;  some  pressing,  ravenous  pander 
Prepared  to  steal  from  me  earth’s  passing  wine; 
Pray  give  me  thine. 

Some  secrets  sweet  are  mine,  but  oh  how  few, 
Compared  to  richest  bounty  which  must  be 
In  thy  pure  heart  and  home — why  not  my  due? 

Will  I  some  day  find  hid  thy  mystic  key? 

Lead  on  thou  me. 

My  youthful  joys  and  heights  of  yester-year, 

Were  bright  and  buoyant,  satisfying  then; 

But  they  have  gone  for  aye.  More  calls  I  hear; 

They  charm  me  onward  to  some  larger  ken; 

But,  0  Truth,  when? 

If  all  I  may  not  know,  then  serve  will  I, 

Submissive  to  each  load  and  yoke  thou  givest, 

Like  the  plaintless,  faithful  ox,  without  a  sigh; 

But  soon  I  plead:  “I  poorly  live;  thou  richly  livest, 
And  oft  receivest 

“Me  for  some  higher  service  still — but  where? 

For  whom?  Why  serve  and  not  be  satisfied? 

Why  toil  on  land  and  sea,  and  burdens  bear, 

Without  thy  joy?  0  be  my  willing  bride!” 

My  poor  heart  cried. 

And  lo,  I  saw  encaged  a  joy-filled  bird, 

And  one  awing  in  song,  as  blithe  as  free; 

A  cooing  babe  I  caught,  in  love  preferred 

Knowledge,  service,  song,  0  Truth,  found  me; 
And  I  found  Thee. 


16 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


A  SCENE  IN  WASHINGTON,  N.  C. 


A  modern  coach  and  four, 

A  kitchen  and  a  store, 

With  wieners  evermore, 

In  Washington. 

The  billies  have  no  speed, 

But  much  of  grit  and  greed, 

And  goats  show  grace  indeed, 
In  Washington. 

They  pull  and  butt  for  Jim, 

And  else  they  do  for  him, 

From  heart  to  outer  rim. 

Of  Washington. 

The  goats  have  feet  and  horns. 
And  Jim  no  painful  corns; 

’Tis  peace  and  no  forlorns, 

In  Washington. 

No  man  can  get  Jim’s  “goat,” 
For  bonds  he’ll  buy  and  float — - 
A  scheme  not  far  remote, 

In  Washington. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


17 


LITTLE  NAPLES  BY  THE  SEA 

In  little  Naples  by  the  sea 

The  birds  join  in  their  jubilee, 

Where  long-leaved  pine  and  royal  palm 
Exhale  the  breath  of  their  fragrant  balm, 

In  little  Naples  by  the  sea. 

The  sea  responds  by  day  and  night, 

With  a  stately  choral  of  life  and  might; 

And  when  his  storms  arise  and  rage, 

He  spares  the  hamlet  of  winsome  age, 

The  modest  Naples  by  the  sea. 

And  many  an  eve  the  sun  will  make 
His  matchless  glories  till  men  awake 
To  find  the  sea,  the  land,  the  sky 
Reset  with  gems  for  the  artist’s  eye; 

In  lovely  Naples  by  the  sea. 

And  so  there  come  to  this  favored  spot 
The  young  and  old  to  cast  their  lot, 

Near  Nature’s  healing  heart,  and  rest, 

Like  a  child  on  his  loving  mother’s  breast — 

In  quiet  Naples  by  the  sea. 

Here  roamed  the  happy  Seminole, 

And  peacefully  here  possessed  his  soul. 

Till  thrust  away  by  men  of  skill, 

The  conquering  whites,  with  greedy  will — 

In  unborn  Naples  by  the  sea. 

E’er  Indian  came,  the  troglodyte 

Reigned  in  his  cave  by  a  primal  right; 

And  ages  and  ages  remoter  still, 

Flew  monsters  of  hideous  claw  and  bill 
O’er  charming  Naples  yet  to  be. 

A  long  ascent  from  warring  snakes, 

From  reptilian  waters  and  slimy  lakes, 

To  singing  birds  and  mirthful  men, 

To  smiling  mothers  and  sportive  children, 

In  balmy  Naples  by  the  sea. 

But  higher  still  to  the  coming  man, 

To  great  sons  of  Art  in  her  perfect  plan; 

To  the  glorious  day  when  hulking  clods, 

Transmuted  to  men,  are  ranked  with  gods, 

In  little  Naples  by  the  sea! 

THE  FAMILY  OF  MY  FRIEND  JONES 

The  seven*  children  of  my  friend  Jones, 

Have  each  of  them  a  lot  of  bones, 

To  grow  and  strengthen,  or  else  to  break 

*There  were  only  seven  children  in  this  family  when  the  first  two  stanzas  were 
written  three  years  ago. — C.  J. 


13 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


Beneath  life’s  burdens  or  sudden  quake, 

Mid  the  wide  and  varied  warring  zones, 

Of  the  seven  children  of  my  friend  Jones. 

But  seven,  you  know,  is  the  perfect  plan; 

It  stands  for  all  that’s  the  best  in  man — 

In  his  youthful  days  and  ripest  years, 

In  his  joys  and  sorrows,  high  hopes  and  fears; 

Tis  God’s  own  number — away  with  groans! 

For  seven  times  blessed  is  my  friend  Jones. 

In  logical  order  the  eighth  arrived, 

And,  take  it  from  me,  they  all  revived; 

With  one  accord  and  high  hearted  aim, 

They  gave  to  the  eighth  the  greatest  name; 

They  all  prepared  with  love’s  sweet  loans, 

To  make  him  the  most  famous  of  my  friend  Jones. 

But  youth  is  still  his,  and  his  good  wife’s  too, 

His  only  sweetheart  forever  true; 

And  the  Father’ll  be  pleased  their  quiver  to  fill, 

For  a  heritage  large  is  his  manifest  will, 

If  here  and  hereafter  no  dullards  and  drones, 

But  all  active  and  cheerful  like  my  friend  Jones. 


ONE  OF  THE  NINE  AMBITIONS  TO  RISE. 


On  the  fifteenth  month,  and  one  August  morn 
The  ninth  leaps  to  life,  another  boy  is  born. 

What  the  Lord  commanded,  my  friend  hath  willed, 
“Increase”  is  the  law,  and  the  law’s  fulfilled ; 

Yet  not  ceaseless  order,  with  nine  vying  tones 
In  the  growing  family  of  my  friend  Jones. 

Such  a  happy  man,  for  to  all  a  friend; 

Not  a  Hottentot  would  Jones  offend; 

And  chiming  in  church  or  turning  the  sod, 

My  friend  is  ever  the  friend  of  God. 

May  the  buoyant  family  all  mount  thrones — 

Then  eternally  blessed,  my  friend  Jones. 

My  mind  sweeps  on  to  a  Kingdom  vast, 

To  numberless  children  who’ll  come  at  last, 

As  sons  of  the  Highest  on  a  shining  shore, 

There  to  play  and  sing  forever  more — 

In  the  temple  of  God  great  living  stones, 

And  some  from  the  family  of  my  friend  Jones. 


Veery  celebrating  the  King’s  Marriage. 


The  original,  with  male  and  female  Veery,  furnished  by  courtesy  National 
Audubon  Societies,  with  changes  by  the  Author’s  Artist. 


Association 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


19 


THE  KING’S  MARRIAGE 

Look,  look,  look! 

My  soul, 

At  that  high  favored  Sun; 

With  smiling  face, 

And  matchless  grace, 

The  King  hath  Beauty  won. 

Look,  look,  look! 

My  longing  soul, 

My  hungry,  ravished  heart — 

Most  gorgeous  role 
In  Nature’s  whole, 

Surpassing  man’s  high  art! 

Look,  look,  look! 

Every  open  eye  and  mind, 

Every  yearning  soul  of  mortal — 
The  Master’s  acme  for  mankind; 

Ye  stars,  look  down  and  glory  find. 
Look! 

Beauty  glides  toward  the  portal. 

With  parting  day, 

I  watch  the  twain  as  they  go; 

I  watched  and  sighed, 

As  heaven  and  sorrowing  earth  below, 
And  hosts  of  both  were  heard  to  say, 

“0  why  may  Beauty  not  abide? 

The  King  and  Queen  made  one  at  eventide, 
And  then  in  secret  chambers  hide!” 

“Stay,  stay,  stay!” 

My  soul  out-cries, 

“For  Beauty  fleeth  fast, 

Nor  nuptials  last. 

And  darkening  skies” — 

And  lo,  the  royal  pair  had  passed; 

But  left  their  image  in  my  eyes, 

And  in  my  living  soul. 

THE  HERMIT  THRUSH* 

(Published  in  the  Methodist  Review,  July,  1919). 

0  little  artist,  of  rarest  modesty, 

Why  hide  thyself  and  sing? 

Thy  music  fills  my  soul  with  ecstasy, 

And  makes  the  woodland  ring. 


*If  anyone  thinks  the  author  has  overdrawn  the  artistic  merits  of  the  bird  he  is 
referred  to  the  expert  opinion  of  F.  Schuyler  Mathews  in  his  Field  book  of  11 
Birds  and  Their  Music,”  pages  234-246,  wherein  this  musician  and  lover  of  birds 
convincingly  compares  and  contrasts,  by  musical  scales  and  other  data,  ie  pov  e 
of  the  Hermit  and  Nightingale  in  favor  of  the  former.  C.  J. 


20 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


Draw  near,  draw  near,  thou  shy,  yet  happy  one; 
I  plead  with  thee — draw  near; 

I’d  share  thy  rapture;  ’twould  be  heaven  begun; 

0  Hermit  sweet,  appear. 

Still  thou  wilt  not,  and  while  I  long  and  dream 
Of  all  that’s  best  for  us — 

The  King,  His  primal  ministers — what  gleam 
Of  highest  genius? 

Sing  on,  elusive  bird,  in  thy  retreat, 

Songs  to  my  waiting  soul; 

Some  dav  inviting  rounds  will  be  complete, 

Some  day,  the  promised  goal. 

And  then  some  disappearing  portion  high, 

Some  joy  just  out  of  reach; 

The  more  immortals  yield  to  devotion’s  tie, 

The  more  must  they  beseech. 

Sing  on,  blest  bird,  beyond  my  poor  purview, 

But  near  my  home  and  heart: 

“I  love,  I  love,  I  LOVE;  yes  I  love  YOU!”* 
This,  thy  crescendo  art. 

I  find  myself  quite  charmed,  yet  almost  lost, 

At  the  modern  opera  grand; 

What  stirs  my  soul  so  deep,  what  I  love  most, 
Thy  song — and  I  understand. 

But  0  that  I  could  see  thy  beaming  eye — 

Mine  eye  on  thee,  all  song! 

Why  so  secretive,  yet  seductive — why? 

My  suit,  renewed,  so  strong. 

That  tree,  those  leaves  around  thee — if  they  knew 
Their  day  and  honored  hour, 

Each  leaf  and  branch  would  homage  pay,  thy  due, 
Aflame  with  joy  that  bower. 

Such  rich  and  rounded  notes  proceed  from  thee, 
Enchanting  naivete: 

From  sleep  thou  wakest  me  with  highborn  glee, 
When  comes  the  King  of  day. 

At  eventide  thou  callest  me  to  prayer, 

More  clear  than  churchly  chime, 

In  wood  and  sky,  in  pure,  perfumed  air — 

His  temple,  thine  and  mine. 

No  passing  wonder,  sing  Nightingales 
In  Russ  or  Tuscan  clime; 

No  hope  have  they  in  these  Columbic  vales 
To  match  thy  tones  and  time. 


*With  slight  change  the  interpretation  by  Mathews  of  the  song  of  the  Olive  Back 
Thrush. 


A 


THE  HERMIT  THRUSH 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


21 


Like  cooling  streams  in  a  parched,  desert  land, 
To  thirsting  souls  and  worn; 

Like  evening’s  changing  charms,  no  artist’s  hand 
Can  set  in  painted  bourn; 


Like  sweetest  dreams  to  troubled  hearts  in  slumbers, 
Uplift  to  heaven’s  heights — 

Just  so  thy  symphonies,  heard  in  rolling  numbers, 
Thy  high  and  holy  flights. 

0  anchoret,  near  Nature’s  heart,  again 
I  pray,  come  forth  and  sing. 

Ah,  there — 0  joy!  I  glimpsed  thee,  Hermit  fain — 
Now  gone  on  gentle  wing. 

My  eye  too  piercing,  and  my  quest  too  keen, 
Unfathomable  bird. 

Once  more  contented  I — remain  unseen, 

And  yet  thy  harmony  heard. 


This  I  have  found,  as  fast  thou  holdeth  me: 

Thou  startest  full,  and  risest; 

And  all  doth  thrill — sweet,  moving  melody, 

Climbing  to  the  highest. 

No  pipe,  no  flute,  organ  or  organist, 

Can  reach  thine  allegro, 

And  thy  cadenza,  thou  transcendentalist — 

’Tis  music  with  naught  of  woe. 

Whence  come  from  singers  proud  their  hard-won  notes? 

In  truth  from  the  music  master. 

By  repetition  oft  and  untrained  throats — 

To  hearers,  near  disaster. 

The  master’s  whence,  the  singing  pioneer, 

Great  Haydn  or  Beethoven? 

Sing  on,  my  thrilling  thrush,  but  wilt  thou  hear? 

From  thee,  and  thou  from  Heaven! 


Long  hours  I’ve  listened  lone,  in  deep  delight, 
To  thy  glad  musicals; 

And  when  I  breathe  my  last,  0  anchorite, 

Sing  soft  angelicals. 


22 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


Turtle  Dove  and  Bluebirds. 


Chipmunk — Note  his  pockets  well-filled 
with  grain  to  be  carried  to  his  granary. 


“Brownie,”  a  young  pet  Thrasher,  raised  by  Artena. 


Swan. 


Photos  by  the  Author. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


23 


MY  RETREAT 


To  my  retreat  now  come  with  me, 

Ami  love  the  place  that’s  wild  and  free, 

Where  Chipmunks  play  and  Wood  Thrush  sings; 
Where  a  lucid  lake  invites  and  brings 
The  proud  offspring  of  Liberty. 


The  Wren  is  there,  the  Chickadee, 

And  many  more  that  come  in  glee, 

On  nimble  feet  or  shining  wings, 

To  my  retreat — 

The  birds  of  sky  and  fish  of  the  sea, 
The  cunning  things  that  charming  be; 
And  there  the  Cardinal  often  rings 
His  notes  of  joy  to  songsterdings — 

All  these  and  I  have  bidden  thee 
To  my  retreat. 


Young  Green  Heron 


Photos  by  the  author. 


24 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


THE  MOCKING-BIRD 

Hilarious  bird,  hast  thou  a  soul, 

Now  here,  now  there 
In  tree  and  air, 

So  free  and  fair? 

Thy  tones  rush  forth  a  rounded  whole, 
Inviting  the  heart  to  some  sweet  goal, 

Like  poet  rare, 

Beyond  compare. 

Hast  thou  a  mind,  a  musical  mind? 

Who  answers  “nay”? 

Or  night  or  day, 

Thy  tuneful  lay 

Brings  joy  and  grief;  myself  I  find 
In  my  inmost  soul  left  far  behind; 

Yet  I  essay 
The  wondrous  way. 

“Borrowed  notes”  they  dub  thy  variation; 
Nor  is  that  all 
In  thy  charmed  call; 

I  rise,  though  small, 

To  laud  thy  rhythmic  re-creation, 
Thy  prompt  and  hearty  liberation 
Of  life  notes  new  which  me  enthrall, 
Without  man’s  pride,  and  fall. 

I  hear  thee  sing  as  Lark  and  Nightingale,* 
Thy  kindred  sweet; 

Palm  Warbler  meet 
Thou  dost  repeat, 

And  modest,  tawny  Veery  of  the  vale; 
Thy  music  upward  leads,  and  I  inhale 
Incense  replete, 

In  thy  retreat. 

As  in  a  dream  I  hear  all  tones  combine 
In  Love’s  embrace; 

And  there  I  see  thy  top-most  place, 

0  Psyche  of  thy  race! 


*  After  the  author  hacl  written  this  line  he  was  glad  to  learn  that  the  late  John 
Burroughs  in  his  “Birds  and  Poets,’’  page  17,  spoke  of  the  Mocking-bird  as  “both 
Lark  and  Nightingale  in  one.’’ 


AlOC  KINGBIRD 


By  courtesy  of  Of.  P.  Putnam  Sons,  Publishers,  and  F.  Schuyler  Matthews 
Author  of  ‘‘Book  of  Birds  For  Young  People.” 

Sketched  originally  for  this  volume. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


25 


Ah,  let  me  turn  to  life  all  notes  so  fine; 

For  this  my  soul  must  alway  pine, 

With  upturned  face, 

For  lyric  grace. 

Quintessence  of  event  is  thine  and  life; 

What  soul  hath  more 
On  sea  or  shore, 

Now  or  afore? 

Thy  keen  eye  beams;  thy  self  art  rife 

With  music,  as  no  magic  flute  or  fife — 

Tis  varied  lore, 

F orever  more. 

Thou  toilest  not  to  sing  like  plodding  man, 

Brave  bird  and  bright; 

Harmonic  flight 
Is  thy  delight. 

Whenever  was  it  thou  did’st  plan 

Sonatas  sweet?  Who  may  so  sing  or  can? 
Without  foresight 
Thy  runic  rite. 

Could  I  exchange  with  thee  one  blissful  hour, 
Produce  thy  chart, 

Feel  thrills  of  heart 
Of  thine,  nor  part 

With  ecstasy,  a-wing  from  tree  to  bower, 

Returning  quick,  possessing  all  thy  power, 

With  no  life  mart 
But  music  art; 

Ah  then,  would  I  thy  lithesome  measures  ken, 

And  glad  bestow 
Rich  magic  flow 
On  all  below. 

Vain  wish!  What  hope  for  a  poor  earth  denizen? 

But  daring  flight,  until  the  poet  pen 
With  thee  shall  glow 
Like  a  sun-lit  bow. 

More  sweetly  still:  thy  soul,  all  song  di\ine, 

As  thou  dost  give, 

As  I  love  and  live, 

Is  mine;  thy  nature  is  forever  thine, 

But  by  mutation  mystic,  yet  benign, 

As  I  with  joy  receive 
Thy  varied  amative, 

Is  also  mine, 

In  God’s  own  shrine. 


26 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


THE  JAY  AND  I— A  DIALOGUE 


“What’s  that  you  say,  you  funny  Jay? 

I  like  your  heauty,  but  not  your  way, 
Though  fond  of  all  the  winged  tribe. 

Is  it  hoo-ray, 

Or  some  hey-day?” 

Then  Jay  began  his  varied  gibe: 

“I’m  a  Blue  Jay; 

That’s  what  I  say; 

Dja-ay!  dja-ay!  dja-ay!” 

( How  will  he  myself  describe, 

With  naught  from  me  that  he’ll  imbibe?) 


“I’ve  more  display, 
More  in  my  yea, 
More  in  my  nay, 
Than  you  convey; 
Dja-ay!  dja-ay!” 

“’Tis  true,  Blue  Jay,  but  too  much  pride; 
You  shout  and  rouse  the  country  side; 


Nor  can  I  see 
The  fun  or  glee, 

For  birds  or  me 
In  your  vanity. 

Whoever  is  it  such  can  bide? 

You  dashing  Jay,  you  want  my  hide?” 

“Never  a  day; 

I’m  a  Blue-ming  Jay 
With  top-knot  gay, 

And  mine  to  stay — 

Dja-ay!  dja-ay!” 


“More  pomp  you  have  than  all  your  fellows; 
All  who  see  you, 

All  who  hear  you — 

‘I’m  the  Jay  Blue 
With  a  top-knot  too — ’ 

All  wonder  why  you  strain  your  bellows.” 


“Hoo-ray!  hoo-ray! — back  to  the  wall! 
When  I’m  stirred  up,  I  always  squall, 
Retreat,  I  say, 

You  bunch  of  clay, 

Away;  away! 

I’m  King  Blue  Jay, 

A  monarch  here  and  lord  of  all; 

Dja-ay!  dja-ay!  dja-ay!” 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


27 


uBut  listen,  Jay,  just  stop  a  spell — 

On  Friday,  luckless  clay,  they  tell, 

That  you  will  dare  to  visit  hell; 

’Tis  only  Friday, 

But  always  Friday — 

If  there  you  stray. 

Then  why  I  pray?” 

It’s  not  your  business,  know  you  well, 

Why  I  on  Friday  go  to  hell.* 

Dja-ay!  dja-ay!” 

4  My  final  word  you  may  forestall; 

But  I  tell  you  plainly  pride  must  fall; 

Old  Pride  is  evil,  horn  of  the  devil.” 

While  flouncing  so  free 
In  a  white  oak  tree, 

Quite  noisily, 

He  answered  me, 

With  piercing  eye,  and  look  of  evil: 

4’Hoo-ray!  hoo-ray! 

I’m  a  blooming  Jay — 

The  devil,  you  say? 

It’s  all  my  way — 

Dja-ay!  dja-ay!  dja-ay!” 

NATURE’S  HEART 

I  search  for  Nature’s  heart  beneath  her  dome, 

All  free  from  jarring  sounds; 

Out  there  my  hungry  spirit  seeks  a  home, 

Out  there,  my  feasting  grounds. 

I  love  the  giant  oak,  the  poplar  and  the  pine, 

Aye,  balmful  to  my  soul; 

I  greet  my  feathered  friends,  and  they  combine 
To  make  me  captive  whole. 

I  find  no  ghoul-like  demon  of  the  wood, 

Nor  siren  from  the  sea; 

A  spirit  high  begets  my  ardent  mood, 

But  yields  not  me  the  key. 

And  dreaming  in  the  vale,  or  on  a  mountain  height, 

Awed  by  the  great  abyss, 

My  soul  doth  plead  an  everlasting  right, 

44 The  secret  of  all  this?  ’ 

Both  wild  and  winning  are  Mother  Nature’s  ways, 

Many,  varied,  one; 

In  all  she  sings  my  soul  her  mystic  lays, 

From  flower  to  rolling  sun. 

*A  tradition  with  some  says  that  the  Jay  goes  to  the  lower  regions  e\erj  Friday, 
and  carries  a  grain  of  sand. 


28 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


But  oh  to  understand  the  purpose  of  her  heart, 
Her  princely,  hidden  life; 

Just  what  or  who  unfolds  the  vital  part, 

Despite  dark  death  and  strife. 

0  Faunus  tell — return  to  earth  and  speak 
The  word  that  satisfies; 

Or  haughty  mountain  give,  or  valley  meek, 

The  answer  to  my  cries. 

The  gods  are  silent  all!  But  drink  may  I 
Of  Nature’s  founts  o’er  flowing; 

I  feel  her  throbs  of  heart  in  earth  and  sky, 

And  loving  leads  to  knowing. 

Henceforth,  of  all  the  wines  of  gods  and  men, 

To  me  give  Nature’s  nectar; 

Of  all  the  feeble  songs  of  tongue  and  pen 
From  every  dull  director— 

Oh  give  me  Nature’s  rich  and  ripest  lore, 

Her  palaces  and  poses; 

Her  peaceful  ways  and  rest,  her  fullest  store 
Of  pure  Pierian  roses. 

Ah,  this  I  know — ’tis  all  I  need  to  know — 

The  great  Mother  has  her  plan; 

With  God  she  labors  long,  at  last  to  show 
Her  perfect  child  and  man. 

A  NIGGER  AND  A  MULE 

I’ve  lived  in  the  city,  I’ve  sailed  the  wide  sea; 

I’ve  studied  in  many  and  many  a  school; 

I’ve  sat  at  the  feet  of  the  bond  and  free, 

And  a  lot  has  come  to  a  fellow  like  me, 

Since  a  new  ground  I  plowed  with  a  balky  mule, 
But  I’ve  lived  to  see  balky  and  a  nigger  fool. 

No  deep-seated  scorn  of  the  African  fool — 
There’s  plenty  like  him  from  the  hills  to  the  sea; 
’Tis  the  union  of  nigger  and  a  stubborn  mule, 
That  surpasses  the  sport  of  an  all-round  school, 

If  not  for  professor  for  fun-loving  me, 

And  as  long  as  I’m  playful,  my  play  shall  be  free. 

Aye  friend,  ’tis  a  wonderful  thing  to  be  free, 
Though  many  a  free  man  I’d  call  a  fool, 

And  no  doubt  some  of  them  would  thus  entitle  me, 
Though  tutored  in  the  city,  the  college  and  the  sea 
Yet  the  nigger  and  hybrid,  I’d  take  for  a  school; 
For  ’tis  hard  to  beat  a  pure  nigger  and  a  mule. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


29 


But  a  ‘‘coon”  in  new  ground,  with  a  kicking  mule! 

Just  so  I  am  far  from  his  heels  and  am  free 
To  look,  and  to  listen  like  a  pupil  in  school; 

Though  frankly  I  admit,  I  at  times  played  the  fool, 

Till  the  lessons  of  life  had  widened  my  sea, 

And  harder  experience  had  deepened  me. 

Ye  fates,  do  not  bring  the  worst  unto  me, 

That  of  trying  to  handle  a  nondescript  mule, 

In  a  rooty  new  ground — 0  the  depths  of  the  sea 
I’d  choose,  in  the  hope  with  the  fish  to  be  free; 
However,  such  choosing  would  prove  me  a  fool — 

No  applicant  I  for  a  sea-bottom  school. 

Since  I’ve  come  to  think,  ’twas  a  German-tried  school; 
And  a  submarine  ship  was  never  for  me; 

And  the  proudest  old  Hun  thus  out-reached  the  fool. 
But  behold,  you  elect,  a  nigger  and  a  mule, 

In  new  ground  in  August — thank  God  I  am  free! 

I'm  only  a  witness  on  a  smoother  sea. 

God  bless  his  wide  sea,  and  the  nigger  in  school; 

And  all  men  make  free — ’twould  be  heaven  for  me — 
And  God  bless  the  poor  mule,  and  the  mule-headed  fool. 


0 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


VIRGINIA’S  NATURAL  BRIDGE 

How  pleasing  the  wonders  of  Nature — how  varied  and  how  vast, 
And  the  mystery  of  all  the  unknown  doth  hold  me  firm  and  fast; 

For  so  the  Creator  ordained  that  men  should  seek  and  know; 

That  the  heart  of  man  may  ever  rise  and  forever  flow, 

From  pebble  small  in  singing  brook  to  yonder  neighboring  star; 
From  star  to  a  wider  system  and  on  to  worlds  afar. 

Tis  only  infinite  mind  can  bridge 
the  space  between, 

Our  planet  and  greater  sun  and 
constellations  seen, 

Beyond  which  are  stars  yet  farther, 
the  living  and  the  dead, 

And  they  tell  us  there  are  millions 
larger  in  the  boundless  spread. 
Imagination  wearies  of  so  vast  an 
evolution, 

But  glories  in  the  love  of  Him  who 
planned  such  contribution. 

The  spider  doth  weave  and  swing 
his  tiny,  fragile  bridge, 

And  man  in  his  nobler  work  doth 
span  from  ridge  to  ridge; 

But  when  men  become  as  gods,  and 
angels  as  such  men, 

With  dominion  of  Jehovah  and  his 
transcendent  ken, 

Ah  many  a  mansion  shall  we  visit 
in  our  Father’s  home, 

As  we  fly  beneath  his  banner,  with 
ages  and  ages  to  roam. 

Photo  by  The  Author. 

Tis  a  fathomless  universe,  but  the  plan  eternal  is  one, 

On  which  good  men  and  angels  may  forever  run, 

O’er  many  a  threatening  torrent  here,  chasm,  wide  and  great; 

And  ever  man  and  gods  shall  their  new  links  create — - 
Some  for  service  and  for  song,  and  some  for  wonder  and  delight; 
And  some  time,  somewhere  the  Bridge — to  everlasting  light. 

THE  MIGFIT  OF  MATUTINAL  MUSIC 

When  awaking  from  dreams  completely  refresht, 

My  body  reclining  still; 

With  a  soul  alive  and  a  heart  at  rest, 

And  master  too  of  my  will — 

WTien  the  sun  doth  cast  ambitious  rays, 

Foretelling  afar  his  race; 

And  my  heart  is  clothed  with  the  garment  of  praise 
By  an  all  pervading  grace — 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


31 


When  I  hear  the  psalm  of  the  gifted  Thrush, 

With  a  song  of  a  mountain  stream, 

And  a  child's  sweet  laugh,  while  the  morn’s  a-flush, 
When  Nature  is  all  a-gleam — 

Ah,  then  my  soul  is  thrilled  with  delight 
And  my  mind  sweeps  every  sea, 

Tis  then  I  possess  my  musical  might, 

And  the  angels  visit  me. 


Photos  by  the  Author. 


A  PERPETUAL  KING 

In  a  King  on  a  throne  and  a  King  there  to  stay, 
You’ve  a  friendly  old  monarch  who’s  ever  upright. 
There  are  blessings  for  you  and  the  men  far  away, 

In  a  King  on  a  throne  and  a  King  there  to  sta\ . 

His  robe  is  pure  white,  but  the  proud  make  it  gay; 
Ah,  what  mercy,  what  power  and  amazing  foiesight 
In  a  King  on  a  throne  and  a  King  there  to  sta\ 

You’ve  a  friendly  old  monarch  who  s  ever  upright. 


32 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


THE  COTTON  GIN 

At  a  cotton  gin  the  King’s  made  thin, 

Yet  never  shows  the  least  chagrin, 

In  his  sunny  home  in  Dixie’s  land, 

That  rich  and  poor  may  live  and  win. 

He’s  trifled  with,  but  will  not  sin 
Amongst  his  subjects,  nor  his  kin, 

Although  he  feels  the  iron  band 
At  a  cotton  gin. 

More  just  the  King  than  a  mandarin, 

And  I  often  think  the  cherubin 
Would  like  themselves  to  understand 
His  long,  rich  round,  and  then  command 
At  a  cotton  gin. 

THE  COTTON  MILL 

In  Southern  climes  and  the  monarch’s  mill 
Weave  many  a  spindle  and  loom; 

And  lake  and  lawn,  with  art’s  own  skill, 
In  Southern  climes  and  the  monarch’s  mill; 
Yes,  church  and  school  and  much  to  fill 
The  mind  with  hope  and  buoyant  bloom — 
In  Southern  climes  and  the  monarch’s  mill, 
Weave  many  a  spindle  and  loom. 

MY  OWN  LITTLE  GIRL 

I’ve  covered  many  and  many  a  mile; 

I’ve  seen  the  setting  of  many  a  sun; 

I  have  oft  been  charmed  by  the  infant’s  smile, 
Pondering  gladly  life’s  journey  begun. 

I’ve  met  with  the  great  and  small  not  a  few; 

I’ve  sat  at  the  feet  of  the  learned  knight, 
Eve  stood  on  the  stage  with  Gentile  and  Jew, 
Addressing  the  throng  by  day  and  by  night. 

Eve  witnessed  the  way  of  the  meek  and  wise, 
Ah,  the  vanishing  joy  of  the  greedy; 

And  more  has  come  under  my  eager  eyes, 
Seeing  the  re-filled  cup  of  the  needy. 

But  never  a  joy  Eve  felt  was  my  own — 

Which  bachelor  old  and  maiden  know  not — 
Is  equal  to  that  when  I  return  home, 

My  humble  home,  yet  delectable  spot, 

And  take  to  my  heart  my  own  little  girl, 

All  laughter  and  love — the  joy  of  my  life. 
Right  here  let  me  rest,  far  away  the  mad  whirl, 
And  feast  on  pure  love,  free  from  all  strife. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


33 


My  own  little  girl, 

My  priceless  pearl, 

With  dance  of  delight, 

A  musical  sprite — 

My  Artena. 

With  hair  of  pure  gold, 
With  heart  never  cold, 
Who  learns  with  a  zest, 
And  strives  for  the  best — 
My  Artena. 

Ten  years  old  today — 

And  never  to  decay — 
May  she  aye  be  sweet, 

And  at  length  complete, 
My  Artena. 


MY  BUTTERFLY* 

My  Butterfly,  my  wondrous  Butter- 

fly. 

Forsaking  temple  great,  thou 
choosest  me, 

When  form  and  burnished  wings 
arrive — I  see 

With  joy,  as  ne’er  before,  thy  glory 
nigh. 

We  journey  through  the  city,  thou 
and  I, 

In  store  and  street  with  joined 
hearts  and  free, 

While  men  admire  thy  trust  and 
amity, 

But  wonder  not  in  thee,  nor  ques¬ 
tion  why. 

At  length  thy  wings  bedecked  with 
Heaven’s  art, 

Begin  to  wave,  as  Nature  planned, 
and  east 

Thou  farest  forth  with  grace,  but 
to  my  heart 

Thou  ever  clingest  still.  Fly  on  and 
feast 

On  nectar  such  as  men  have  never  wrought; 

In  thee  is  trust  and  love  and,  why  not,  thought? 

*This  particular  butterfly  was  first  seen  clinging,  about  three  feet  above  the  pave- 

-  rema?ndin7^ifhn£ 

or  over  an  hour. 


34 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


T^cis 

c^om  el 

0  child  of  hope,  why  left  to  go  astray, 

And  rend  this  heart  of  mine? 

Some  one  knew  not,  nor  cared  what  ruthless  way 
You  wend — once  babe  benign — 

Was  that  somebody  I  ? 

If  God,  with  perfect  heart,  loved  you,  my  child, 
And  to  Jesus  likened  thee— 

Why  so  favored  first,  now  sad  and  wild? 

Who  failed  to  love?  Ah  me! 

Was  that  somebody  I? 

One  said  he  loved  the  Christ  and  all  of  his; 

He  read  the  Word  and  prayed; 

Believed  that  one  the  cruel  creed,  “What  is, 

Is  best?”  And  so  you  strayed — 

Was  that  somebody  I? 

At  home  neglected,  nowhere  a  faithful  friend, 
You  listless  wandered  on; 

Till  fool  or  knave  declared:  “You’re  bad,  your 
end 

Looms  dark — a  criminal  born!” 

Was  that  somebody  I? 

Despised  yet  more — the  Christ  and  thee — then 
crime ! 

You  bore  with  shame  the  chains! 

Your  training  and  your  arts, 
in  Hell’s  own  clime, 

Went  on  with  damning 
drains — 

Great  Heaven!  was  it  I? 

Did  I  neglect  you,  child,  my 
Father’s  child, 

I  judge,  and  send  you 
down? 

Myself  at  ease,  while  you 
were  curst,  reviled — 

No  aid  gave  I,  no  crown? 

Then  Christ  must  pass 
me  by! 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


35 


MY  SABBATH  SERMON 

A  growing  mocker  in  a  maple  tree, 

Poured  forth  first  notes  with  youthful  glee; 

Like  an  untried  poet  born  to  sing. 

He’s  proving  gifts  which  fame  will  bring. 

And  musing  on  that  Sabbath  morn, 

With  body  weary,  heart  forlorn, 

The  music  of  the  blithesome  bird 
Inspired  my  mind  itself  to  gird 

With  faith  and  courage,  hope 
and  love, 

Beg  uiling  my  heart  to  leap 
above. 

Tis  ever  thus,  some  primal 
song 

Doth  make  us  gentle,  brave  and 
strong; 

And  trustful  too,  till  we  can 
see 

With  eyes  of  Him  of  Galilee — 
Sweet  Sabbath  notes  from  the 
amateur, 

Which  filled  my  soul  with  a 
speedy  cure. 

The  bird  will  better  sing,  and  I 
Shall  carol  sweetly  by  and  by; 
After  earth’s  songs  on  vernal 
sod, 

Then  high  above  in  the  choir 
of  God. 

What  wondrous  choir  —  how 
vast,  how  bright, 

With  suns  and  stars,  and  yet 
greater  Light. 

They  also  sing,  as  ever  they 
shine, 

With  a  strength  of  love  that  is 
divine. 

Yon  rolling  plain  and  mountain  peak, 

Or  surging  sea  and  bounding  creek; 

Or  budding  rose  and  lustrous  star — 

All  bid  us  rise  to  an  avatar, 

Above  rich  valley,  and  hill’s  proud  crest. 

Above  things  seen  to  heaven  s  best — 

To  perfect  ones,  with  the  angel  throng, 

O’er  topless  hills  in  endless  song! 


36 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


PILOT  MOUNTAIN 

0  Jomeokee,  thou  everlasting  guide, 

Lifting  high  thyself,  a  tower  strong 

For  passing  men,  and  deathless  hills  around; 

For  Yadkin  and  on-flowing  Ararat, 

Bathing  thy  feet  in  humblest  gratitude; 

Thy  lofty  head,  embraced  by  cooling  clouds, 

Gives  something  forth  that’s  rich,  and  unto  all — 

0  Pilot  old,  thy  secret  bare  to  me. 

Tell  me  when  thy  origin  and  where; 

What  hidden  womb  ambitious  gave  thee  birth; 

Bear  witness  thou  to  all  both  seen  and  heard 
By  thee  from  first  to  last;  from  primal  man, 

To  Renfro  Indian  tribe,  who  spake  thy  praise 
In  by-gone  years,  and  poet  last  who  sang 
Thy  glory — 0  eternal  Pilot  speak! 

As  mute  thou  art  as  mighty  and  sublime, 

Like  unto  all  that’s  great  and  strong  and  good — 

Forever  still  midst  Surrey’s  joyful  hills; 

Yet  to  men  thou  bringest  a  message  deep; 

To  Indian,  symbol  of  the  Spirit  Great; 

To  me,  the  varied,  potent  word  of  God. 

i 

i 


A  View  of  “Big  Pinnacle’’  on  Pilot  Mountain,  in  Surrey  County,  N.  C. 

Picture  by  the  Author. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


37 


Majestic  lord  of  all,  to  thee  on  high, 

The  struggling  towns  appear  as  vying  dwarfs; 

The  rivers  like  to  circling,  creeping  snakes; 
Valleys,  rich  and  broad,  thy  gardens  are 
Imperial — and  all  thine  honors  sing. 

Sons  of  chiefs  long  vanquished  played  and  danced 
Before  thy  face;  again  the  fathers  prayed, 

Their  plea  ascending,  swift  as  thought,  to  Him 
Who  guided  Abram  ’mongst  Judean  hills. 

What  heart-breaks  knowest  thou  of  sire  and  son? 
Of  lover  and  beloved,  of  hate  and  hope? 

Deepest  depths  and  uplift  to  the  heights? 

I  hear  the  music  of  thy  hidden  heart, 

Sorrow’s  song,  in-wrought  with  joy  that’s  pure, 
The  process  endless  of  the  urging  Cross — 

A  lofty  peak  of  virtue  and  of  peace 
Art  thou,  O  Jomeokee! 


HER  PRISON  LIFE* 

Her  prison  life  was  long  and  lone 
Her  kindred  buried  or  unknown; 

Of  naught  had  she  kept  any  score, 

In  truth  her  mind  deprived  of  lore, 

But  knew  her  grief  to  be  her  own. 

Another  heart  had  better  grown, 
Confessing  murder  had  he  sown; 

“I  did  the  deed,  and  I  deplore 
Her  prison  life.” 

But  hope  and  heart  and  health  had  flown; 
Why  cares  she  now  what  winds  are  blown? 
“I  guess  I’ll  stay  here  as  before, 

My  all  is  gone  and  evermore” — 

Her  living  death,  one  long-drawn  moan, 
Her  prison  life. 


*Based  on  a  newspaper  story  of  “Aunt’’  Sarah  Wycoff  in  the  North  Carolina 
Penitentiary. 


Near  Nature's  Heart 


OO 


oo 


Photograph  of  a  rare  old  painting  by  the  Spanish  artist,  Herrera,  and  owned  by  Dr. 

Andrew  Anderson  of  St.  Augustine,  Fla. 

AURELIUS  AUGUSTINUS 

0  thou,  immortal  father, 

Permit  my  spirit  poor  to  rise  with  thine. 

I  hou  didst  ascend,  high  Heaven’s  hero, 
f  rom  thy  soft  bed  of  prayer  at  Hi,  >po, 

Centuries  agone, 

\  ery  \  andals  storming  thy  gates  the  while. 

\  ictor  art  thou  still,  and  higher, 

More  mighty,  honored  more. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


39 


Amongst  men  thou  didst  eat 

Of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  good  and  evil — 

How  human  as  boy  and  man! 

Yet  thou  didst  name  thy  first  born, 

In  youth  begotten  of  thine  unlawful  union, 
Adeodatus,  “a  gift  from  God.” 

Again  and  again  thou  didst  strike 

For  freedom  from  thy  fetters  and  thy  foes, 

Till  thou  hadst  conquered, 

Later  painting  thy  life  of  lust 
In  color  like  unto  darkest  night. 

With  hungry  heart  and  spirit  high, 

Thou  oft  didst  delve  into  Cicero’s  Hortentius, 
And  give  thy  faith  to  Manichaeus, 

Seeking  to  know  evil  and  its  source — 

The  ever  pressing  problem,  eternally  inscrutable. 

After  God  all  things  good  had  made, 

Tea  very  good, 

A  fearless  fool  hath  said, 

“He  turned  Himself  into  the  tempting  serpent — ” 
Shocking  diabolism ! 

Creators  two? 

Incredible,  impossible. 

Then  it  follows, 

One  evil  became. 

But  when  and  where;  by  whom  and  why? 

With  all  this  thou  didst  wrestle, 

And  more  bitterly  with  thyself. 

Yet  thou  didst  give  to  God 
And  all  the  ages 

Thy  “Confession,”  thine  and  mine; 

Thy  “De  Natura  et  Gratia” — 

The  everlasting  conflict; 

Books  fifteen  on  a  single  theme, 

At  once  the  highest  and  holiest, 

The  redeeming  Trinity. 

Many  a  tractate  and  treatise 
Thou  didst  leave  to  men. 

We  bless  thee  for  all  this, 

Thy  holy  heritage,  0  Augustine, 

More  brilliant  than  Ambrose, 

Of  truth  more  jealous  than  Jerome, 

More  profound  than  Gregory  the  Great; 

The  super-man  of  thy  day  and  many, 

Thou  enthroned  son  of  the  Highest. 


40 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


Beholding  now  thy  form  and  face — 

Master  work  of  Herera’s  hands, 

Done  a  milennium  after  thy  ascent, 

A  worshipful  face  toward  the  Holy  Father’s, 

With  quill  in  thy  skillful  hand, 

“The  City  of  God”*  before  thee, 

My  soul  astir  doth  soar 
Toward  thine  and  His. 

Oft  have  I  gazed  and  gloried, 

Imaging  thy  topless,  hallowed  heights, 

From  deepest,  darkest  depths — 

I  too  may  rise;  I  will,  0  God,  I  will! 

0  THAT  INCOME  TAX! 

I  struggled  with  mine  till  the  midnight  hour; 

My  head  was  that  of  a  fool; 

My  losses  and  gains,  they’re  beyond  my  power, 

And  never  the  like  was,  in  school. 

That  minus  sign  was  ever  my  foe 
From  earliest  years  until  now; 

My  modest  income,  and  varied  out-go — 

0  they  must  he  figured  somehow! 

I’ll  tell  you  the  truth,  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord, 

I  worried  and  went  “sick  abed;” 

Six  pages  of  puzzles  and  all  a  sworn  word — 

“0  where,”  I  sighed,  “is  my  head?” 

“If  married,”  or  “single” —  I  failed  to  know: 

Nor  dependent  children  could  tell; 

For  never  my  mind  received  such  a  blow, 

From  such  unexpected  hell. 

I  always  have  cherished  my  Uncle  Sam, 

And  thought  he  was  oftenest  right; 

But  flooded  I  was,  nor  a  single  dam 
To  check  my  downward  flight. 

Exhausted  I  slept,  nor  just  or  unjust, 

Resolving  the  next  day  to  seek  aid; 

For  when  I  awoke  ’twas  still,  “you  must 
Or  penalty  dire  be  paid.” 

To  the  revenue  clerk  I  took  me  straight, 

And  behold,  as  I  looked,  I  heard 

A  lot  of  fond  fools  at  Uncle  Sam’s  gate, 
Despairing  like  a  caged  bird. 

The  officer  smiled,  and  I  smiled  out  loud, 

For  misery  loves  company; 

And  the  smiles  were  like  beams  that  broke  the  cloud 
Of  impending,  rank  perjury. 


*The  title  of  one  of  his  works. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


41 


The  blanks  I  filled  in  from  A  to  0, 

But  omitted  the  “profits  from  sale” — 

I  once  grew  rich  with  a  plow  and  hoe, 

When  a  whistling  boy  and  hale. 

In  those  olden  days  no  kind  of  a  tax 
For  City  or  State  revenue 
Was  imposed  on  boys  except  a  few  whacks, 

But  now  they  forever  are  due. 

I  swore  and  I  signed  and  in  full  I  paid 
That  puzzling  tax  return; 

Once  more  I  laughed,  and  again  I  said, 

“  Tis  always  do,  and  you  learn.” 

And  now  it  is  done,  and  thoroughly  done, 
Halleluia,  I  ll  get  there  yet; 

But  by  all  that’s  good  and  true  neath  the  sun, 
I  swear  that  folly  to  forget. 

IN  FLORIDA 

They  come  from  everywhere, 

By  land,  by  sea  and  air, 

The  old,  the  young  and  fair — 

And  all  without  a  care, 

In  Florida. 

Just  pause,  my  friend,  and  see 
The  multitudes  that  be 
O’er  lovely  shore  and  lea; 

They  reach  from  sea  to  sea, 

In  Florida. 

Look  at  the  aged  one. 

Who  shines  like  a  little  sun, 

And  feels  himself  undone. 

If  he  played  not  golf  and  won, 

In  Florida. 

His  gouty  feet  must  dance, 

His  eye  will  look  askance, 

And  his  mind  make  glad  advance, 

To  reach  five  score,  perchance, 

In  Florida. 

Yes,  let  him  have  his  wish 
To  feel  the  line’s  quick  swish. 

And  catch  his  finest  fish 
For  his  epicurean  dish, 

In  Florida. 

’Tis  here  he  makes  the  stride; 

There’s  nothing  he  can’t  ride, 

With  a  maiden  by  his  side — 

Yet  a  few  things  must  he  hide, 

In  Florida. 


42 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


The  birds  and  trees  here  sing; 
The  prigs  and  plants  upspring, 
And  each  gets  in  the  swing, 

With  Nature  all  a-wing, 

In  Florida. 

Behold,  my  friend,  the  youth, 
The  forward,  the  uncouth; 

The  gentle  and  their  ruth, 

The  beauty  and  the  truth, 

In  Florida. 

It’s  like  a  moving  stage, 

The  folk  of  every  age; 

No  place  nor  cause  for  rage — 
Even  workless  have  their  wage — 
In  Florida. 

Then  see  the  females  all; 

Alack!  you  rise  or  fall, 

Or  else  your  heart  forestall. 

In  this  moving,  magic  ball, 

In  Florida. 

One  great  kaleidoscope, 

From  silk  to  dirt  and  dope, 

From  puppet  to  a  pope, 

This  passing  throng  of  hope, 

In  Florida. 


Close  clinging  to  their  cheerless  nest. 
Two  little  birds  are  trying 
To  call  back  joys  of  mother’s  breast, 
A  mother,  lifeless  lying. 


God’s  two-fold  plan  for  making 
song — 

Some  bend  the  while  defying — 

And  man’s  two  friends  their  whole 
life  long; 

Two  little  orphans  crying. 


No  answer  comes,  save  from  the 

^King, 

A  King  who’s  aye  supplying 
The  needs  of  the  great  and  smallest 
thing — 

His  little  orphans  crying. 


TWO  LITTLE  ORPHANS 


-j  Two  orphans  in  the  world  are  left, 
A  brother  and  sister  sighing; 

Two  Vireos  aggrieved,  bereft, 

Two  little  orphans  crying. 


By  the  Author. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


43 


By  Courtesy  of  Briscoe  and  Arnold. 

TROUBLE  AND  PLAY 

It’s  trouble  and  gladness  from  first  to  the  last. 

Ere  joy  is  quite  vanquished  some  sorrow  comes  fast; 
Yet  while  old  Calamity’s  having  his  way, 

For  one  that’s  in  trouble,  there  are  others  at  play. 

What  is  play  to  the  pup  is  grief  to  the  child; 

What  is  fun  for  the  boy  makes  mother  go  wild; 
Some  deeds  of  the  mother  cause  angels  to  weep; 
While  God  smiles  over  all,  and  all  He  doth  keep. 

SOME  SMALL  SURPRISES 

We  never  foreknow,  but  our  hearts  were  a-glow, 

The  hearts  of  Artena  and  I, 

As  we  walked  to  and  fro  by  the  waters  a-flow, 

The  waters  in  “the  land  of  the  sky.” 

The  children  see  true — they  generally  do — 

The  charming  things  all  around; 

I  followed  her  view,  and  I  presently  knew 
A  Tanager’s  nest  was  found. 

The  boys  advanced,  as  soon  as  they  glanced, 

And  down  came  the  limb  of  a  tree; 

Thus  fortune  chanced,  while  little  hearts  danced, 

With  four  wee  fledglings  to  see. 

With  noisy  protest,  and  tumult  and  zest, 

The  camera  captured  all  four. 

Twas  the  parents’  sure  test — they  forsook  the  nest, 
Though  birdlings  a-weeping  sore! 


44 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


I  began  to  weep,  in  my  heart  quite  deep, 

When  the  babes  kept  up  their  cry; 

I  ran  up  the  steep  like  a  deer  in  a  leap, 

For  the  best  bird  food  supply. 

They  reached  and  they  tried;  they  ate  and  they  cried, 
Till  the  four  had  eaten  their  fill; 

The  mother  aside  still  motherhood  belied, 

And  the  heart  in  me  struggled  still. 

I  learned  in  my  youth,  an  old,  new  truth; 

'Mongst  men  and  beasts  and  birds, 

Some  grow  uncouth,  nor  ever  show  ruth; 

And  for  fools  waste  not  your  words. 

Filled  oft  to  the  beak,  as  the  days  made  a  week, 

The  fledglings  and  I  were  friends, 

And  over  the  creek  the  folk  came  to  speak 
Of  their  beauty,  their  cuteness  and  ends. 

And  all  the  hearts  right  grew  more  tender  and  bright, 
As  the  Tanagers  grew  a-pace; 

And  those  of  insight,  said,  “The  birds  have  a  right 
To  partake  of  our  friendly  grace.” 


THE  RHYTHM  UNIVERSAL 

Give  me  thy  music,  0  most  musical  One, 

The  rhythm  that  rolls  from  yonder  cycling  sun; 

Yea  more,  as  heart  and  soul  of  all  that’s  good, 

Thy  nature  gave  in  vaster  plenitude; 

Nor  time  will  ever  be  when  thy  glad  stars 
Will  cease  to  sing  as  one  in  rhythmic  bars; 

Nor  conscious  sons  of  God  go  shouting  joy; 

Nor  woodland  birds  of  song  their  loved  employ. 

It’s  in  the  very  heart  of  things; 

It’s  in  our  bounds  and  sweeps  and  swings; 

It’s  in  the  tree  and  rose  that  springs — 

All  Nature  sings - and - sings. 

The  heart  of  man,  his  coursing  blood  through  veins; 
The  very  breath  of  life,  his  thoughts  and  reins; 

His  dreams,  devotions,  deeds,  his  all,  0  soul, 

Or  great  or  small  beneath  divine  control. 

The  gracious  seasons  roll  in  mighty  numbers; 

The  snow,  the  sleet  but  falls,  that  He  who  slumbers 

Not  may  again  awake  the  earth  to  life 

And  stay,  for  man  and  all,  the  winter’s  strife. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


45 


The  raging  storm,  the  great  earthquake  and  war 
Are  music  bound,  if  we  but  see  afar; 

From  heart  of  heav’n  to  heart  of  hell — ah  yes; 
The  prince  of  darkness  is  beset,  not  less — 

Tis  bars  and  feet,  far-reaching  leaps  and  falls, 
Through  light  not  seen  in  His  momentous  calls. 

Consider  Job — upright  but  proud — at  last, 

By  grinding  fate,  by  every  woe  held  fast, 

He  turned  to  highest  hills  and  King  of  all; 

And  never  more  asked  he,  “why  such  a  fall?” 

It  was  the  rhythm  of  God  through  stops  of  sin; 

’Tw  as  His  own  anthems  deep,  without,  within. 

Our  Pilgrim  fathers,  banished  by  the  fates, 
Brought  out  of  many  ills  the  United  States; 

And  through  each  crisis  great  of  all  known  time, 
Tis  God  in  love;  ’tis  music  full  sublime. 

At  last  the  Lamb  and  Lion  in  song  shall  join; 
The  Child  and  Wolf  eternal  riches  coin; 

The  Night  shall  sing  to  Day,  and  Day  to  Him, 
Who  receives  the  plaudits  of  the  seraphim. 


THE  STONE  CROSSES  AND  THE  FAIRIES 

(In  Patrick  County,  Virginia,  little  stone  crosses  have  been  found  and  are  yet 
obtainable.  Jewelers  of  Roanoke  and  Martinsville,  Va.,  assure  inquirers  that  the 
Virginia  ‘‘Fairy’’  or  ‘‘Lucky’’  stones,  discovered  nowhere  else  in  the  world,  have  been 
a  puzzle  to  scientists,  and  are  being  worn  by  some  of  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe.  A 
bulletin  of  the  U.  S.  Geological  Survey  speaks  of  them  as  “the  most  curious  mineral 
found  in  the  United.  States,’’  and  calls  them  Staurolite  or  Fairy  Stones.) 


In  Virginia’s  historic  hills  around  a  hallowed  spot, 

There  was  born  a  mystic  legend  which  ne’er  shall  be  forgot; 

A  story  true  to  Nature  and  to  One  without  a  blot — 

The  divinest  story  of  old! 

For  glory  bright  is  round  it,  which  has  softened  many  a  heart, 
A  tale  of  wise  and  saintly  ones,  in  universal  art; 

A  story  mightiest  with  men  now  and  ever  mighty  part 
It  played  in  the  races  of  old. 

We  yet  believe  that  angels  must  have  wept  and  good  men  sighed, 
When  Gallilee’s  great  Son  with  hateful  spite  was  crucified; 

But  who  would  ever  dream  the  fairy  spirits  were  allied 
In  Heaven’s  great  scheme  of  old? 

Yet  when  these  blithesome  fays  were  dancing  by  a  mountain 
spring, 

Ere  the  days  of  Pocahontas  and  Powhaitan,  the  fearless  King, 
in  union  with  the  naiads,  an  elfin,  swift  of  wing, 

Came  weeping  from  the  East,  of  old. 


46 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


The  story  sad  he  told  of  Christ,  the  Saviour,  and  His  Cross; 
Then  joy  and  laughter  sudden  ceased,  and  grieving  for  their 
loss, 

They  shed  their  tears  upon  the  pebbles  and  on  the  velvet  moss — 
A  heaven  moved  grief  of  old. 

And  lo,  when  they  had  flown  from  the  enchanted  spring  and 
ground, 

Just  where  the  tears  had  fallen  on  the  pebbles  lying  round, 
The  Fairy  stony  crosses  by  the  thousand  there  were  found, 
Sweet  Nature’s  crosses  of  old. 


Note  the  crosses  in  this  clod  of  earth.  Photographed  in  Patrick  County,  Ya. 


THE  SUN  FLOWER 

’Tis  the  flower  that  looms  and  turns  to  pure  gold, 
Yes,  the  flower  that  loves,  and  is  loved  the  best; 

For  it  plans  from  the  first — this  is  love’s  true  test — 
To  give  forth  its  riches  to  young  and  to  old. 

It  o’er  reaches  men  high  with  its  shining  crest, 

Yet  never  in  climbing  unduly  bold — 

’Tis  the  flower  that  looms  and  turns  to  pure  gold, 

Yes,  the  flower  that  loves,  and  is  loved,  the  best. 

The  Gold  Finches  arrive  as  its  petals  unfold, 

And  the  Cardinal's  joy  is  manifest, 

As  groom  gives  to  bride  the  jolly  behest 
To  feast  on  its  wealth  and  in  her  heart  to  hold 
The  flower  that  looms  and  turns  to  pure  gold, 

Yes,  the  flower  that  loves,  and  is  loved,  the  best. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


47 


COLONEL  DIAMOND  AND  GRAND  DAUGHTER 

I  would  like  to  attain  to  my 
four  score  and  two, 

With  a  joy  in  my  heart  and 
with  naught  to  efface, 
Could  I  dance,  or  could  sing 
with  an  energy  true, 

Could  I  lighten  the  load  of 
the  populace. 

I  d  run  out  in  the  open  for 
Nature’s  embrace, 

With  a  mind  ever  high,  yet  my 
feet  on  the  sod; 

While  my  soul  would  be  set  to 
the  music  of  grace, 

With  the  heart  of  a  child  and 
the  gifts  of  a  god. 

My  pursuit  would  be  learning 
the  old  and  the  new; 

And  whenever  I  could  I  would 
Psyche’s  wings  chase! 

I  would  speak  of  high  art  with 
my  privileged  few, 
Photograph  taken  when  lie  was  82  years  of  age.  And  persuade  men  below  to  the 

nobler  race; 

In  the  faith  I’d  rejoice  that  the  world  grows  apace. 

I  would  skip  on  the  mountain,  or  valley’s  dull  clod, 

Having  plenty  and  power,  or  only  an  ace, 

With  the  heart  of  a  child  and  the  gifts  of  a  god. 

I  would  rather,  like  Diamond,  all  the  way  through, 

Either  poor,  or  unknown,  or  with  glorious  mace, 

Make  somebody  happy — ah,  many  and  you! 

And  the  love  of  a  child  with  my  love  interlace; 

Yes,  content  with  my  lot,  and  the  righteous  ukase. 

I  would  work  and  I’d  play,  but  never  more  plod; 

A  glad  song  in  my  heart,  and  a  smile  on  my  face, 

With  the  heart  of  a  child  and  the  gifts  of  a  god. 


Envoy 

Here’s  to  Diamond’s  health,  to  the  grand-daughter’s  grace; 
They  are  under  love’s  sway,  which  surpasses  the  rod; 

So  united  and  happy  in  every  place, 

With  the  heart  of  a  child  and  the  gifts  of  a  god. 


43 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


THE  WILD  WOOD 

How  wonderful  the  wild  wood, 

The  fiesh  sweet  wood  with  its  hush. 

Silent,  my  soul!  Take  thou  the  mood 
Of  Veery  and  of  Ihrush, 

Way  out  in  the  wild  wood. 

Give  ear  to  hymn  of  oak  and  pine; 
Drink,  my  soul,  drink  deep; 

The  master  Muse  would  make  it  thine, 

But  who  can  fully  know  the  sweep 
Of  music  of  the  wild  wood? 

Each  tree  sings  low  an  old,  new  song, 
Softest  lay  of  life  and  love; 

Unmarred  by  the  daring,  prattling  throng 
Of  rushing  men — like  a  dove 
My  soul  in  the  wild  wood. 

The  honeysuckle  and  wild  rose— 

Purity  and  balm  a-bloom— 

Refresh  my  heart  and  they  transpose 
My  hungry  mind  to  richer  room 
And  food  in  the  wild  wood. 

The  violets  with  their  upward  look, 

The  stones  beneath  my  feet, 

Make  one  and  all  an  open  book; 

Ah,  the  meditations  meet, 

With  God  in  the  wild  wood. 

At  length  the  sun  puts  on  pure  gold; 

The  birds  and  breezes  softer  sing, 

List!  all,  within  this  shrine  of  old, 

Chime  symphonies  to  the  King — 

High  mass  in  the  wild  wood! 


Photo  by  the  Author. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


49 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THINGS 

The  beginning  of  things,  the  first  of  all  men — 

It  fascinates  me,  and  I’ve  wondered  when 
And  what  and  how  the  beginning  of  things. 

Jehovah  the  first,  and  Jehovah  the  last, 

But  the  wisest  must  think  very  deep  and  fast, 

To  fix  in  his  mind  the  first  of  all  things. 

All  creatures  began  in  the  heavens  and  earth; 

The  sun  and  the  moon  and  star  had  a  birth; 

But  when  and  where  the  beginning  of  things? 

Not  yet  is  the  answer,  but  I  hope  somewhere, 

With  Christ  and  his  saints  and  seraphim  fair, 

To  know  more  about  the  advent  of  things; 

To  get  better  acquainted  with  Adam  the  first, 

To  learn  the  true  source  of  his  deepest  thirst, 

The  wonderful  truth  of  the  beginning  of  things — 

The  beginning  of  thought,  and  the  primals  of  love; 
How  a  reptile  became  the  soft  cooing  dove, 

And  whence  the  beginning  of  all  present  things; 

The  ape-grunt  to  a  word,  and  that  word  a  vast  tongue, 
And  whence  the  sweet  music  of  mankind  has  sprung; 
Who  struck  the  first  note  in  the  beginning  of  things? 

’Tis  an  evolution  great,  and  a  marvel  to  me, 

But  never  have  I  prayed  to  our  father  up  a  tree; 
Aye,  no  man  yet  since  the  origin  of  things. 

The  Alpha,  Omega,  the  First,  Last  and  Whole, 

Who,  from  the  small  first,  had  foreseen  the  vast  goal, 
He  only  knows  now  the  beginning  of  things. 

But  will  He  not  somewhere  permit  me  to  know, 

If  I  go  on  with  Him  in  the  eternal  flow, 

The  satisfying  truth  of  the  first  of  all  things? 

THE  END  OF  THINGS 

The  aim  of  the  heavens,  the  end  of  the  earth — 

What  a  measureless  sweep,  what  a  mighty  girth, 
From  the  far  off  first  to  the  end  of  all  things! 

The  end  of  the  rose,  which  fades  in  a  day, 

The  purpose  of  the  plant  an  age  on  the  way— 

I  dream  of  Beauty  in  the  end  of  things. 

The  end  of  all  men,  and  the  end  of  myself, 

From  the  artist  great  to  the  smallest  elf, 

Our  thoughts  and  our  deeds  in  the  end  of  things. 

The  fate  of  the  infants  who  die  without  ken, 

Of  their  growth  and  knowledge,  God  s  super-men— 
What  developments  vast  in  the  end  of  things! 


50 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


The  issue  of  thousands  and  millions  of  slain, 

The  end  of  all  wars,  and  the  victor’s  sure  gain — 
There’s  a  league  worth  while,  toward  the  end  of  things; 

A  league  of  the  nations,  the  long  coming  star 
The  prophets  of  old  fore-glimpsed  from  a-far, 

A  brotherhood  true  toward  the  close  of  things. 

The  last  of  the  martyr,  who  passed  with  a  prayer, 
The  last  for  the  felon,  who  died  in  despair — 

All  good  and  all  ill  in  the  end  of  things? 

We  know  but  in  part,  yet  co-workers  are  we 
In  a  scheme  as  complete  as  eternity — 

In  the  far  off  final,  and  fulfillment  of  things. 

It  delights  one  to  think,  we’re  only  in  school, 

That  our  joys  and  our  woes  do  not  mean  mis-rule, 

In  God’s  plan  for  the  race  to  the  end  of  things. 

In  this  purpose  of  His  the  rose  will  uncover; 

In  its  family  great  we’ll  at  length  discover 

The  sweet  Rose  of  Sharon,  the  completion  of  things; 

In  the  plants  by  the  waters,  that  quicken  and  die, 

But  give  out  their  riches  unstinted,  nor  sigh, 

The  Lily  of  the  Valley,  the  Goal  of  all  things. 

The  song  of  the  Thrush  and  of  plaintive  Nightingale 
Will  merge  with  the  Master’s  glorious  “all  hail,” 

In  harmony  perfect  in  the  end  of  things. 

St.  John,  the  inspired,  saw  horses  in  heaven, 

And  I  love  to  believe  even  they  will  be  given 
Some  happier  part  in  the  end  of  all  things. 

The  best  of  our  words  and  our  ways  here  forgot 
Will  be  gathered  and  treasured  in  a  hallowed  lot, 
Exalted  in  place  at  the  end  of  things — 

God’s  men  as  the  angels  and  angels  as  men, 

Ah,  the  little  child  too  shall  be  received  then, 

In  love  of  the  Highest,  in  the  end  of  all  things. 

WHEN  THE  JUNCO  COMES 

The  Junco  comes  when  warblers  go, 

When  leaves  lay  dead  by  a  dauntless  foe; 

Ay,  winter  plans  with  all  his  might 
To  put  in  a  grave  the  heart’s  delight, 

And  cover  all  with  a  shroud  of  snow. 

But  seasons  have  a  rhythmic  flow, 

With  good  in  each,  and  this  I  know, 

Through  storm  and  sleet,  in  cheerful  flight, 

The  Junco  comes. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


51 


This  bonny  bird  has  faith  to  show 
To  faithless  mortals,  fearing  woe, 

How  the  changeless  One,  with  a  changing  light 
Fore-plans  for  bird  and  man  aright; 

With  autumn  gone  and  winter  here — lo, 

The  Junco  comes! 

JAMES  BRADLEY  JACKSON 

(Written  beside  bis  grave  in  Lake  City,  Fla.,  where  he  was  buried  after  a  tragic 
death,  February  8,  1868,  by  railroad  accident. 

Dr.  Lovick  Pierce,  when  in  his  prime,  once  facetiously  remarked  to  several  oppos¬ 
ing  preachers:  “My  brethren,  you  had  better  let  brother  Jackson  alone.  He  has  the 
most  metaphysical  mind  of  any  man  in  Georgia,  myself  only  excepted.’’ 

Rev.  W.  J.  Scott,  D.  D.,  in  “Biographic  Etchings”  says  of  contemporary  ministers: 
“Not  one  of  them  was  his  equal  as  a  theologian  or  logician.” 

The  late  Dr.  W.  J.  Cotter,  of  Newnan,  Ga.,  wrote:  “Your  father  was  a  great  and 
good  man.”) 

Father,  0  my  father! 

Attend  unto  the  cry 
Of  this,  thy  son, 

And,  though  long  silent  and  invisible, 

Speak  thou  to  me. 

I  stand  with  uncovered  head, 

’Neath  giant  water  oaks, 

Thy  sleepless  body-guard, 

Supporting  emblems  of  eternal  mourning, 

The  clinging  mosses  at  half  mast, 

Nature’s  weepers; 

Now  still,  now  softly  chanting,  now  waving, 

While  sympathetic  zephyrs  flow, 

And  give  them  kiss  of  comfort  as  they  pass — 

Calling  all,  like  my  hungry  heart, 

For  thee! 

Victimized  thy  body, 

Thy  very  bones  were  mangled, 

Long  since  done  to  dust. 

Exalted  dust,  once  indwelt  by  Deity, 

Assuring  foretaste  of  higher  life. 

In  towering  oak  a  mocking-bird  doth  sing, 

Not  doleful  dirge, 

Nor  requiem  for  the  hopeless  dead, 

But  sonatas  pure  sings  he  of  life  and  love, 

This  receiving  and  out-giving  Psyche  of  every 
wandering  note, 

The  Sidney  Lanier  ’mongst  birds  of  the  sunny  South, 

His  own  “trim  Shakespeare  on  a  tree” — 

The  oak,  the  moss,  the  bird  and  I, 

Above  all  Jehovah,  the  life  ol  all, 

Proclaim  thee  ever-living, 

And  glorified. 

I  cry  unto  thee,  ascended  sire; 

Hearest  thou  me? 

Conscious  of  thy  child’s  communion? 


52 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


Meetest  thou  me  as  son  or  spirit? 

Yea;  closer  now  than  as  tender  offspring  of  thy  loins, 

1  sat  upon  thy  knee,  inquirer  and  receiver, 

In  the  long  ago. 

Yet  fettered  I  by  frailities  of  the  flesh, 

With  poor  and  halting  language  of  mortal  men, 

Miserable  makeshift,  the  spirit’s  aphasia, 

This  spoken  or  written  word — 

I  will  fight  through  fetters  all  and  fly! 

Mine  is  the  inarticulate  cry  of  love, 

Plea  of  a  son’s  aspiring  heart. 

Made  more  and  more  apt  and  musical 
By  what  thou  wast  and  art, 

During  all  thy  crowning  years. 

Again  I  see  thy  imaged  face,  0  master  man; 

Thy  penetrating  eye,  that  reads  from  soul  to  soul — 

Stern,  inflexible; 

Yet  merciful  thou,  and  gentle  with  men. 

I  wonder  what  thou  hast  become; 

What  thoughts,  what  plans,  achievements  now? 

But  three  short  months  in  a  fourth-rate  school, 

At  twenty  spelling  and  struggling  on 
Through  the  Book  Divine, 

Making  marvelous  mistakes  and  ludicrous — * 

What  man  or  angel  climbed  from  less  to  more? 

What  god? 

Once  teacher,  tender,  patient,  firm; 

A  preacher  powerful  of  the  Gospel  everlasting; 

College  president;  thinker,  deep  and  rare, 

Holding  and  molding  many  from  thy  conquered 
heights ! 

Whose  soul  ever  sang  oratorios 
Sweeter,  richer  in  the  hierarchy  of 
Being  and  becoming? 

Who  ever  possessed  more  wondrous  will, 

Power  uppermost  in  God  and  man? 

Thou  didst  express  God-begotten  longing 
To  return  and  be  guide  to  some  lone,  weary  one — 

It  is  I — prayer  proven. 

Oft  and  again  thy  fond  fatherhood, 

One  with  the  eternal  Father, 

Who  sends  forth  His  spirits  as  ministers, 

Has  converted  my  weakness  into  strength, 

My  loneliness  to  fellowship  free, 

My  doubt  and  darkness  to  lovely  light, 

My  cup  of  bitterness  to  blessing — 

What  father  still,  and  guardian  angel  thou! 

*  Struggling  with  that  simple  passage — “This  is  the  heir;  come,  let  us  kill  him” 
— he  rendered  it,  “This  is  the  hair-comb,  let  us  kill  him;’’  and  hence  reached  his 
logical  interpretation,  which  is  left  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


53 


Thy  spirit  ineluctable 

Lives,  and  reigns,  and  rises  ever; 

Delving  deeper,  more  divinely 
Into  glories  of  love  and  service; 

High  above  the  maddening  marts  of  men, 

Of  dire  machines,  for  murder  built, 

That  sow  and  reap  the  woes  of  war. 

0  immortal  man,  high  grown  saint  and  prophet, 
Beloved  father,  I  come — ere  long,  I  come! 
Even  now  and  here,  earth-bound  as  I  am,  I  rise 
To  meet  and  greet  thee, 

In  God’s  pure  heights, 

And  thine! 


This  old  mansion  in  Stokes  County,  N.  C.,  was  seven  years  in  being  built  by  its 
owner,  Col.  John  Martin,  who  was  the  great-grandfather  of  Judge  W.  P. 
Bynum  of  Greensboro,  N.  C.  Photo  by  the  Author. 

A  STORY  OF  COLONIAL  TIMES 

(With  a  historical  basis  never  before  published.) 

Ride  back,  my  children,  in  the  chariot  of  Time, 

A  hundred  and  sixty-five  years; 

And  w  ell  j  oin  a  fond  father,  a  hero  sublime — 

A  maiden  is  pleading  in  tears! 

She  was  seized  by  the  Tories  at  a  bold  mountain  spring, 

Soon  after  refusing  her  heart, 

To  one  who  belonged  to  the  enemy’s  ring, 

A  foreign  and  haughty  up-start. 

Away  thru  the  mountains  they  carried  the  maid 
To  their  secret  and  darksome  den; 

And  there  the  pure  daughter  of  Martin  was  laid, 

The  captive  of  merciless  men. 


54 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


The  ‘‘rock  ribbed  pen’’  in  which  Miss  Martin  was  placed  by  the  Tories. 

Photograph  by  author. 


She’s  pleading  with  them,  but  her  cries  are  in  vain; 
They’ve  bound  her  secure  and  fast; 

And  vowed  she  should  never  see  Martin  again — 
And  the  lover,  “You’re  mine  at  last.” 

Her  sleep  has  departed,  her  food  is  refused, 

But  unto  the  Father  she  prayed; 

While  the  body  of  thieves  are  greatly  amused, 

Near  a  glowing  fire  they’ve  made. 

A  brave  of  the  friendly  Saura  tribe 
Soon  heard  of  the  stolen  girl; 

To  Martin  he  went  without  thought  of  a  bribe, 
With  plans  that  proved  him  no  churl. 

To  the  top  of  his  mansion  the  father  flew, 

A  mansion  of  solid  gray  stone; 

It’s  standing  yet — and  ’twas  years  that  it  grew — 
A  tower  defiant,  though  lone. 

The  two  anxious  men  looked  near  and  a-far, 

And  at  length  a  glimmer  was  seen, 

A  gleam  far  away,  like  a  dim  fallen  star, 

A  token  of  promising  sheen. 

A  compass  was  set,  that  infallible  guide; 

At  sunrise  it  pointed  the  way, 

When  the  father  and  friend,  alert  by  his  side, 
Made  a  silent,  complete  survey. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


55 


While  they  searched  through  the  wood  some  fragments 
were  found, 

Torn  threads  of  a  girl’s  scarlet  shawl, 

Lying  hither  and  yon  on  the  virgin  ground — 

Faint  hope  of  success  was  all. 

Now  at  length  a  full  score  of  Tories  is  spied, 

At  the  mouth  of  their  cave  with  guns — 

Down,  still!  ’  said  Martin,  “a  moment  we’ll  hide, 
Then  away  for  our  friends  and  our  sons.” 

Two  score  are  secured  and  each  man  is  well  armed; 
They  approach  the  Tories’  dark  cave; 

But  the  thieves  are  alert  as  well  as  alarmed, 

Before  men  so  mighty  and  brave. 

Quick  shots  are  exchanged — the  maiden  still  prays; 

All  the  Tories  but  three  take  flight, 

And  these  are  bound  fast,  and  in  Heaven’s  own  ways, 
There’s  rapture  and  holy  delight. 

Ah,  ne’er  such  a  kiss  and  ne’er  such  embrace, 

Twixt  Martin  and  only  daughter; 

For  the  gold  of  the  hills,  and  the  wealth  of  the  race, 
Could  not,  for  all,  have  bought  her. 

The  Tories  still  fl  ee,  the  seven  and  ten, 

Pursued  thru  the  Sauratown  hills, 

Till  the  last  is  destroyed  or  safe  in  a  pen, 

And  the  lovers  had  a  feast  that  fills. 


CUM  ON  WID  YER  MONEY  FUR  ME 

Fm  pore  an’  bline,  but  I  shore  kin  sing; 

And  I  lubs  to  hear  dat  silver  ring, 

So  cum  on  wid  yer  money  fur  me. 

Yer  knows,  white  folks,  a  nigger’s  pore  chance; 
An’  de  best  I  kin  do  is  ter  sing  an'  dance; 

Now  cum  on  wid  yer  money  fur  me. 

Fill  up  dat  cup  an’  run  hit  ober, 

An’  Fll  be  full  like  a  sheep  in  de  clober; 

So  cum  on  wid  yer  money  fur  me. 

Dar  neber  wuz  er  pull  like  de  money  pull, 

An’  meny’s  bin  de  day  since  mer  cup  wuz  full — 

O  cum  on  wid  yer  money  fur  me! 

While  mer  song  do  er  about  like  ole  Jim  Crow, 
Yer  hearts  will  be  happy  an’  oberflow, 

Ef  yer  cum  on  wid  yer  money  fur  me. 


56 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


So  cum  er-long,  cum  er  long  an  stan'  er  round ; 
Let  smiles  on  ebery  face  be  found, 

An’  cum  on  wid  yer  money  fur  me. 

While  I’se  jes  a  nigger,  pore  an’  bline, 

Dis  shore  am  de  song  of  yore  race  an’  mine; 

0  cum  on  wid  yer  money  fur  me! 


Snapped  by  the  Author  in  Tampa,  Fla. 

GOOD  OUT  OF  EVIL 

0  God  of  power  great  and  endles-  love, 

While  dwelling  in  immensity  above. 

On  highest  throne  of  all,  of  life  and  light; 

Yet  contest  down  thou  gently  in  thy  might, 

To  succor  of  the  low  and  heavy  laden, 

And  on  thou  leadest  to  a  peaceful  haven. 

Tis  ever  thine  to  bring  forth  love  from  hate, 

0  Christ,  eternal  Wisdom,  incarnate; 

All  good  from  evil,  health  from  all  our  pain; 

From  darkness  lisht — so  he  it  always  plain 
To  men  and  devils:  Thou  alone  art  king; 

And  highest  in  all  worlds  thy  praises  ring! 

Afar  Thou  dost  foresee  the  certain  end. 

And  cause  the  strife  of  nations  mad  to  bend 
Their  worst,  their  artful  plan  and  utmost  deed, 

To  bless  thine  own  and  be  thy  servant’s  meed; 

Rich  peace  from  war;  high  Heaven  from  utter  hell; 
0  what  a  God  is  ours — let  angels  tell! 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


57 


CHRISTMAS 


Ho,  children,  ho! 

Ring  loud  the  hells, 

In  town  and  dells; 

And  gladly  go. 

Thru  ice  and  snow, 

For  mistletoe, 

With  merry  bells! 

Come,  welcome  Santy, 

In  his  reindeer  sleigh, 
On  the  King’s  highway — 
He’s  never  scanty — - 
So  children,  ho ! 

For  mistletoe, 

With  jingling  hells! 

Of  Christ  we’ll  sing, 
With  glad  acclaim, 
And  steadfast  aim, 

His  praises  ring— 

O  children,  go, 

For  mistletoe, 

With  joyful  bells! 

Come  young,  come  old! 

Those  only  live 
Who  1  ove  to  give, 

With  hearts  of  gold, 
All  people,  ho! 

For  mistletoe, 

With  dancing  bells! 


mistletoe. 

Photo  by  the  Author. 


53 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


MRS.  JOSEPHINE  F.  HAMILL* 

When  I  see  her  face  to  face, 

At  home  a-front  the  rolling  sea, 

A  buoyant  tide  of  life  flows  over  me, 

With  quickened,  joyful  pace. 

A  breath  from  perfumed  hills  I  inbreathe 
That  is  purer  than  the  breeze 
From  sun-lit  seas; 

And  I  perceive  a  beauty  incarnate, 

Not  far  below  the  gifted  gods, 

Who  for  others  mediate, 

And  to  men  bequeathe 
The  best  from  Him  immaculate. 

She  is  a  symphony, 

A  living,  moving  harmony, 

Where  doomed  discord  would  rampant  be; 

Face  to  be  studied  like  Art’s  masterpiece,  and  more, 

For  somehow  it  charms  one  beyond  self  and  toil 
and  the  beaten  shore. 

If  I  cannot  tell, 

Nor  explain  the  spell, 

In  my  own  heart’s  depths 
I  know  why 

She  has  eyes  that  image,  please  and  edify. 

In  smiles  which  come  and  go  and  quick  return, 

I  feel  the  ebb  and  flow  of  a  fuller  Fount  and  vaster, 

The  symbols  visible  of  unseen  verities, 

For  which  I  yearn. 

And  those  high  born,  universal  sympathies, 

Pouring  ever  forth  from  the  highest  Master. 

Her  altruistic  thoughts  and  every  word, 

Like  the  spontaneous  out-burst  of  a  joy-filled  bird, 

Looking  near  and  far  to  lighten  human  needs — 

More  fruitful  than  Pomona  are  her  deeds — 

All  these  point  to  heights  where  one’s  transferred, 

Softly,  safely,  faster. 

Her  life  is  one  of  many  links  and  spans, 

Unbroken  and  unbreakable — 

For  joyless  mortals  joy  unspeakable — 

Forged  links,  not  made  with  human  hands, 

In  mystery  joining  together  heaven  and  earth, 

Till  the  day  of  fullness  and  our  greatest  birth, 

Day  of  fulfillment, 

And  at-one-ment. 

And  then? 

Ah  Then! 

*This  beautiful  character  and  other  proven  friends  described  in  these  pages  measure 
up  to  the  standard  now,  as  the  author  sees  it  and  them — yet  the  coveted  ideal  rises 
ever  higher  as  we  press  on  toward  the  Highest.  C.  J. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


59 


A  CHICK’S  CRY 

At  lone  midnight,  with  only  the  light 
Of  stars  across  my  bed, 

And  on  my  wakeful  head, 

I  prayed  for  sight,  or  note  though  slight, 

Of  moving  melody. 

*Twas  then  I  heard  the  call  of  a  bird, 

A  soft,  pathetic  cry; 

It  seemed  to  ask:  “Oh,  why, 

My  pleading  word  is  not  yet  heard, 

And  I  forsaken  be?” 

A  motherless  chick,  and  my  heart  grew  quick; 
iVIy  youngest,  sleeping,  dreaming  girl, 

With  tender  heart  and  eye  like  pearl, 

Had  played  love’s  trick,  when  hale  or  sick, 

A  devoted  mother  she. 

With  night’s  last  wane,  I  heard  life’s  strain — 

A  woodland  warbler’s  song. 

The  child  arose  ere  long 

With  love  so  fain;  I  caught  again 
Rich  rhythm  of  amity. 

The  chick’s  cry  ceased — ’twas  now  a  feast, 

And  note  of  joy  it  spoke 

To  the  motherly  master-stroke — 
Glory  in  the  east  for  the  very  least, 

And  smiled  the  Deity. 

On  man’s  wide  sea  there  come  to  me 
Still  deeper  wails;  oh,  hark! 

The  children  cry — ’tis  dark! 

Ah,  when  shall  we  on  earth  decree 
Divinest  ecstasy? 

THE  KID  AND  THE  COP* 

He  came  to  a  stop,  from  the  hailing  cop, 
The  Kid  ’neath  the  apple  tree; 

And  then  the  cop  went  “over  the  top,” 
Pronouncing  his  decree. 

“Oh  yes,  ha,  ha,  a  thief  you  are! 

Come  tell  me  quick  your  name; 
Your  fun  I’ll  mar  without  a  scar, 

And  scribble  it  down — for  fame.” 


*The  illustrations  by  courtesy  of  Kodakery. 


60 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


The  Kiddie  smiled,  like  a  guileless  child; 

“Have  one,  it’s  awfully  nice.” 

Thus  reconciled,  the  cop  grew  mild, 
Beholding  the  Kid’s  device. 


He  seized  with  joy  the  fruit  and  boy, 
With  both  of  them  enraptured; 
“You  human  toy,  you’re  some  decoy, 
For  now  you  have  me  captured.” 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


61 


THE  OVER-FAVORED  AND  THE  CHANCELESS  CHILD 

The  favored  child  was  loved  indeed 
By  father,  mother,  city  and  state — 

All  glad  to  give  the  highest  meed, 

The  child  they’ve  blest  both  soon  and  late. 
Another  child  did  men  berate, 

And  now  and  then  they  brought  to  shame; 

They  saw  and  caused  a  cruel  Fate 
To  damn  this  child  with  a  felon’s  name. 

The  happy  child  of  Fortune’s  breed 
For  mind  and  body  had  fullest  plate; 

Of  noble  flesh,  an  elect  seed. 

The  child  they’ve  blest  both  soon  and  late. 

The  chanceless  child  they  chose  to  hate, 

To  hinder  hands  that  would  reclaim — 

Ah,  even  moved  some  magistrate 
To  damn  this  child  with  a  felon’s  name. 

The  well-led  boy  should  take  the  lead, 

Have  free  and  ever  a  high  estate — 

’Twas  rank  injustice  to  impede 

The  child  they’ve  blest  both  soon  and  late. 

The  wayward  child  could  ne’er  be  great, 

And  so  ’twas  meet  his  mind  to  flame, 

And  just  his  doom  to  accelerate, 

To  damn  this  child  with  a  felon’s  name. 

Envoy 

They  all  sped  him  to  Heaven’s  gate, 

The  child  they’ve  blest  both  soon  and  late. 

And  the  godless  waif?  Twas  Hell’s  deep  aim, 

To  damn  this  child  with  a  felon’s  name. 


THE  SLANDERER 

Of  all  things  vile  beneath  the  sky, 

By  night  or  day  that  creep  or  fly; 

The  spider,  bedbug,  hated  louse; 

Or  close-coiled  rattler,  gnawing  mouse; 

The  buzzard,  skunk,  or  murderous  mink, 
Hyena  mean,  whose  eye  doth  blink — 
Wherever  one  may  rest  or  wander, 

The  vilest  he  who  breedeth  slander. 

The  rattler  warns  you — jump  or  run, 

Or  give  him  battle  with  stick  or  gun! 

The  skunk  offends  you — let  him  go; 

He  takes  his  choice  ’twixt  friend  and  foe. 


62 


Near  Nature's  Heart 


The  blackest  buzzards  often  use 
Some  others*  victim  or  refuse. 

Bedbugs — Bab!  Such  creeping  things 
Do  basely  vex;  still  we  are  kings. 

Hyenas  are  caged  or  far  away; 

The  mice  entrapped  by  night  and  day. 
But  Slanderer's  base  and  slimy  word 
Is  fouler  far  than  beast  or  bird. 

Infectious  doubt  injects  he  first, 

And  defamation’s  not  his  worst; 

His  victim  says:  ‘T'm  stript  of  fame; 

If  felon  then,  I'll  play  the  game.'’ 

Thus  some  decide;  and  who  may  tell 
The  dirty  depths  of  this  fiend  of  hell? 
And  there  he'll  go,  upwept,  unsung — 
The  vilest  monster  yet  unhung! 


THE  WORLD’S  GREATEST  EGOTIST 

He  made  his  earth,  and  scaled  his  lofty  sky; 

He  spread  abroad  his  universal  sea; 

He  climbed  his  visioned  mountains,  towering  high, 
The  cause  and  course  of  Wisdom  he’d  decree. 

’Gainst  man’s  accurst  and  weary,  ill-formed  world, 
All  rent  apart  by  fools  and  their  divisions, 

His  burning  anathemas  he  ever  hurled, 

His  direst  doom,  and  his  divine  decisions. 

No  other  man,  through  years  and  cycles  run, 

Was  bold  enough  to  say:  “God  is  dead”; 

Of  all  great  men,  philosopher  but  one, 

Thyself,  alone,  and  madness  seized  thy  head! 

0  thou,  most  blatant  babbler,  Friedrick  Nietzsche, 
How  thou  didst  snuffle — how  thou  didst  sneeze  thee 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


63 


LITTLE  RIVER  ROYAL 


NEW  RIVER,  FORT  LAUDERALE,  FLA. 
Snap  Shot  by  the  Author. 


Close  nestling  on  thy  bosom,  all  dreamy  and  serene, 

Thy  charms  I  feel  in  all  their  flood,  and  never  ending  scheme; 
Thy  gifts  so  manifold  are  of  fullest  life  and  love; 

Contented  guests  within  three  live  as  in  the  air  above. 

I  hear  thy  praises  chorused  in  the  king-fisher’s  rattle, 

In  giant  alligator  sigh,  who  prefers  his  peace  to  battle; 

He  sinks  beneath  thy  bosom  in  perfect  ease  and  calm, 

And  there  within  thy  shielding  heart  he  sings  his  grateful  psalm. 

The  mullet  and  the  tarpon,  the  swift  and  tremulous  trout, 

Dash  eagerly  to  mount  thy  wave,  and  lithely  splash  about, 

To  manifest  their  joy  in  thee  and  their  abounding  life. 

So  glad  bestowed  on  them  by  thee,  so  free  from  doubtful  strife. 

The  mocking-bird  and  robin  both  join  their  sweetest  song 
With  the  lowly  rune  of  river  flow,  alluring,  deep  and  long; 

The  eagle-hawk  doth  watch  thee  with  close,  unblinking  eye. 

And  for  his  profit  plunges  swift,  then  soars  up  toward  the  sky. 

The  trim  blue  heron  in  thy  waves  doth  lave  his  weary  feet; 

From  thy  cooling  water  takes  his  food  and  feels  himself  complete; 
And  thou  art  ever  ready  to  let  the  mallard  ride, 

And  comfort,  too,  the  mourning  dove,  who  slumbers  by  thy  side. 

That  charming  bird,  the  cardinal,  in  his  imperial  red, 

Himself  in  thee  doth  contemplate,  and  unto  thee  is  wed. 

And  legion  are  thy  lovers — a  noble  stream  thou  art! 

And  all  the  more  thou  givest  free  the  richer  is  thy  part. 


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Near  Nature’s  Heart 


The  palm  and  the  palmetto,  the  lily,  dainty  sweet, 

Their  homage  humbly  before  thee  bring,  and  lay  it  at  thy  feet; 

The  water  oak  that  thirsteth,  towering  long-leaf  pine 

Drink  gratefully  thy  water  pure  and  sing  a  praise  that’s  thine. 

Ah,  way-worn  mortals  turn  to  thee  to  worship  and  abide; 

The  white  winged  boats  are  drawn  to  thee  on  every  swelling  tide; 
For  thru  thy  whole  long  journey  it’s  always  give  and  give — 
What  a  multitude  of  creatures  thou  dost  make  to  live! 


At  last  thyself  thou  givest  wholly  to  out-spreading  bay; 
It  beareth  thee  to  shining  sea — how  wonderful  thy  way! 
With  parting  kiss  to  earth,  thou  risest  to  thirsty  sun, 

Who  praiseth  thee  and  hasteth  thee — another  race  to  run. 


GIVE  ME  BOTH 

The  glad  wild  hills, 

With  rushing  rills, 

Are  clothed  with  glory — 
The  old,  old  story, 

Yet  new, 

In  the  everlasting  hills. 

In  mountain  majesties, 

And  high-born  ecstasies, 

Fresh  strength  may  be, 
And  halm  for  me 
And  you, 

In  the  glad,  wild  hills. 

Then  in  surf  and  sea, 

With  youthful  glee — 

While  waves  are  dashing, 
And  swimmers  splashing 
Around 

In  the  ever-changing  sea; 


The  nearest  water  supply  to  the 
Tories’  Den. 

(See  pages  53-55). 

Photo  by  Author. 


With  wavelets  dancing, 

The  tide  advancing; 

Breezes  kissing — 

Ah,  no  one  missing 
Life’s  bound, 

In  the  wild  waves  of  the  sea. 

MANIFOLD  BEAUTY  AND 
THE  MAN 

is  beautiful  to  be  young, 

When  youth  grows  wise  at  length; 
is  beautiful  to  be  strong, 

With  gentleness  in  strength. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


65 


It  is  beautiful  to  grow  old, 

When  the  heart  remaineth  young; 

It  is  beautiful  to  be  brave, 

When  mercy’s  note  is  sung. 

It  is  beautiful  to  be  good, 

If  filled  with  knowledge  true; 

And  service  is  beautiful, 

When  service  maketh  new. 

There  is  beauty  in  men’s  laugh, 

When  laugh  the  pure  in  heart; 

It  is  beautiful  to  be  bright, 

With  wit  for  noblest  art. 

’Tis  beautiful  to  see  the  sun, 

And  Nature  in  her  courses  run; 

The  wild  and  healing  mountains, 

And  overflowing  fountains; 

Her  blue  unbounded  sky, 

Which  oceans  glorify — 

Her  silver  spray  of  waterfall; 

Eternal  rocks,  both  large  and  small; 

The  heavenly  hue 
Of  diamond  dew, 

On  sun-kissed  flower, 

In  morn’s  high  hour. 

Beauteous  to  see  the  sunset’s  glory; 

God’s  secret  read  in  the  deep-laid  story; 

The  sleep  of  butterfly, 

From  death  to  life  and  why; 

Jehovah’s  predilection, 

In  every  resurrection. 

How  beauteous  in  music  of  the  stars  to  lave, 
With  song  of  the  sea  from  ever  rolling  wave, 
And  note  of  woodland  thrush, 

Which  gives  the  heart  its  hush; 

Pipe  of  oriole — 

0  Beauty  of  the  whole! 

In  sweet,  divine  content, 

May  mortals  ever  sing, 

The  anthems  of  the  soul, 

The  beauties  of  the  King. 

Ah,  Beauty  is  for  all, 

If  Truth  but  disenthrall — 

0,  yes,  ’tis  Heaven’s  plan, 

For  Beauty  in  the  man. 


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Near  Nature’s  Heart 


CHIMNEY  ROCK 


* 


Mysterious  offspring,  rugged  son  of  Fire, 

Born  from  the  depths  before  the  birth  of  years, 

When  burdened  mothers  would  not  grieve  nor  tire, 

And  fathers  all  forbade  the  cringing  fears; 

But  listened  there  some  one  with  painful  ears, 

And  the  mighty  throes  foredoomed  some  heart  to  pine. 

But  seen,  thy  solid  form  and  brow  so  fine — 

Ah,  then,  who  dares  to  feebly  pine  or  mock? 
Men  drink,  for  forthwith  flows  a  mystic  wine. 
When  they  thy  glory  see,  eternal  Chimney 
Rock. 

Of  mountains  round  about  thee  some  rise 
higher, 

Yet  none  of  them,  both  near  and  far,  thy 
peers; 

And  none  of  them  are  led  to  hate  and  ire; 
I  rather  think  they  greet  thee  with  good 
cheers; 

Thy  plaudits  ring  from  a  multitude  of  seers, 
For  thou  dost  serve  for  all  as  Nature’s  shrine. 
What  cynic  looks,  and  yields  his  pent-up 
whine  ? 

At  once  he  joins  the  throng  which  round 
thee  flock; 

No  mountain,  man  or  god  could  thee  decline, 

When  they  thy  glory  see,  eternal  Chimney  Rock. 


Photo  by  the  Author. 


I  trust  I  know  and  love  thy  primal  Sire, 

But  purer  love  and  lore  when  twilight  clears, 
When  men  and  I  shall  climb  a  nobler  spire, 

And  all  of  hate  and  horror  disappears, 

With  wail  and  woe  of  war  and  cruel  spears; 

When  wolf  and  lamb  shall  side  by  side  recline — 
0,  be  it  mine  to  stand  secure,  yes  mine, 

Without  the  thought  of  harm  or  deadly  shock, 

In  that  glad  day  and  time,  as  ever  thine, 

When  they  thy  glory  see,  eternal  Chimney  Rock. 


Envoy 

How  humble  the  stream-feel  valleys  round  thee  twine; 

How  praiseful,  too,  as  deep  they  interline 

Thy  mates  so  high,  more  constant  than  a  clock — 

On  thee  the  very  gods  come  down  to  dine, 

When  they  thy  glory  see,  eternal  Chimney  Rock ! 

*In  the  mountains  of  North  Carolina. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


67 


THE  ELEPHANT  DANCE 


While  reaching  for  sixty  I  played  a  child’s 


game, 

But  I  leaped  to  the  front  in  the  elephant 
dance. 

From  earliest  years  overlooked  by  Fame, 

While  reaching  for  sixty  I  played  a  child’s 
game. 

Old  dignified  friends,  who  are  more  or 
less  lame, 

Think  me  monstrous  and  strange,  in  search 
of  mischance — 

While  reaching  for  sixty  I  played  a  child’s 
game, 

But  I  leaped  to  the  front  in  the  elephant 
dance. 


LEAST  YET  GREATEST 

We  long  for  thy  kingdom,  0  little  child, 

Thy  kingdom  of  trust  with  a  reign  so  mild; 

No  soaring  eagle  e’er  mounted  such  crest, 

As  thou,  high  enthroned  on  thy  fond  mother’s  breast; 
And,  like  the  sweet  song  of  some  innocent  bird 
Thy  cooing  is  Love  reaching  after  a  word. 

OLD  SHIP  CHURCH 


Old  Ship  Church,  (First  Parish),  Hingham,  Mass.,  built  in  1681,  said  to  be  the 
oldest  church  in  the  United  States,  where  continuous  services  have  been  held. 

Be  mine  thy  throb  of  pulsing  heart,  Old  Ship, 

When  sermon,  song  and  prayer  were  wont  to  hold 
And  guide  the  fathers,  pioneers  of  old; 

The  men  who  held  the  truth  with  steadfast  grip — 


68 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


Thine  own  appeal  to  God  from  heart  and  lip, 

Inspired  by  earnest  men,  who  ne’er  cajoled, 

Who  sang  their  hymns  within  that  saintly  fold, 

With  all  their  worship  free  from  vulgar  slip. 

Old  Ship,  the  Church,  that  made  the  ship  of  State, 
Who  trained  aright  thy  maidens  and  thy  lads. 

And  lived  thy  simple  life,  all  free  from  fads, 

Thou  madest  America  beloved  and  great. 

Sail  on,  Old  Ship,  and  sweep  the  farthest  sea, 

And  save  the  souls  of  men  eternally. 

TO  THE  MEN  OF  THE  PRESS 

Here’s  to  the  fellows  who  scribble  with  pen, 

A  busy  and  buoyant  bunch  of  expert  men; 

They  tell  what’s  what,  and  what  the  thing  is  for, 
From  a  woman’s  hair  pin  to  a  world-wide  war. 

MOTHER  INDEED 

What  word  among  the  sons  of  men 
So  uppermost  as  mother? 

What  soothing  carol  ever  sung 
So  musical  as  mother? 

What  poem  ever  came  from  pen, 

So  comforting  as  mother? 

What  acme  of  our  human  tongue 
So  eloquent  as  mother? 

Answer,  deed  of  fondest  lover, 

Answer,  men  of  boasted  creed; 

Who  or  what  may  rise  above  her — 

If  she  be  a  mother  indeed? 

NATHAN  O’BERRY 

Give  me  the  man  that's  trustful  and  bright, 

The  man  with  a  soul  and  a  heart  that’s  right, 

Who  laughs  at  trouble  and  is  always  cheery; 

And  one  such  man  is  Nathan  O’Berry. 

When  friends  come  around,  or  gloomy  or  sad, 

And  another  along  both  worried  and  mad, 

Just  watch  those  fellows,  as  all  grow  merry, 

In  company  with  brave  Nathan  O’Berry. 

When  the  stream  gets  high  and  a  man  must  cross, 
Yet  he  knows  not  how,  without  serious  loss, 

There’s  one  to  be  found  with  his  good  old  ferry 
To  carry  him  over,  Tis  Nathan  O’Berry. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


69 


He  s  a  man  who  gives  for  the  love  of  giving; 

Tis  Heaven  s  sweet  way — high  loving  and  living — 
The  man  whose  wife  in  her  heart  calls  “deary” — 
Ah,  bless  the  Lord  for  Nathan  O’Berry! 


Photo  by  T.  P.  Robinson,  Orlando,  Fla. 

THE  BISHOP’S  GARDEN 

(Based  on  what  was  seen  around  the  home  of  Bishop  Cameron  Mann,  Orlando,  Fla.) 

“Come  into  my  garden,”  said  the  Bishop  unto  me; 

“Tis  the  greatest  little  garden  that  ever  you  may  see. 

Behold  a  sturdy  phalanx  of  the  giant  bamboo, 

Which  defends  the  garden’s  side  in  valiant  line  and  true, 

And  yonder  bunch  of  bamboo  is  the  prouder  Japanese, 

The  equal  in  beauty  of  the  trimmest  of  the  trees. 

“My  delight  is  in  the  palm,  the  pride  of  sunny  tropics, 

The  tree  in  all  Nature  for  the  poet’s  varied  topics; 

I  here  have  them  all  but  the  gorgeous  royal  palm — 

King  Frost  is  oft  unfriendly  to  his  majesty’s  balm. 

“And  consider,  if  you  please,  that  rare  Australian  Oak, 

Standing  there  so  lonely,  like  the  greatest  of  the  folk; 

And  the  other  generous  fellow,  the  noble  camphor  tree, 

Gives  peace  and  health  and  hope  to  many  a  bird  and  me. 


70 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


“I  am  sure  you  must  admire  my  good  Banhania  plant, 

With  all  the  grace  and  beauty  which  she  doth  ever  grant; 
She’s  not  unlike  a  mother  who  must  protect  her  own; 

Her  buds  she  close  infolds  when  dangers  are  fore-known. 

“My  lovely  Jacaranda  changes  Nature’s  plan, 

As  the  unlike  woman,  or  like  the  wilful  man, 

The  blossoms  coming  first,  its  verdant  foliage  last, 

But  its  loveliness  in  May  time  will  hold  you  firm  and  fast. 

“And  see  the  running  roses,  hugging  close  my  home; 

They  clasp  my  heart  so  sweetly  that  it  never  more  may  roam. 
Burbank  has  none  that’s  better  than  my  purest  Cherokee, 
With  its  dainty  white  so  spotless,  and  his  naive  simplicity. 

“And  here  is  the  Phevitia,  and  there  the  Bottle  Brush, 

The  Myrtle  bloom  so  solemn,  and  now  I  can  but  blush — - 
The  Holy  Spirit’s  plant,  my  very  humblest  flower, 

That  worships  the  gracious  Father  from  his  lowly  bower. 

“Now  take  your  fill  of  orange,  of  grape-fruit  and  of  lime; 

Your  choice,  sir,  of  the  kumquat,  or  the  loquart  in  its  prime.” 
“Oh,  my  good  sir,”  cried  I,  with  gladdest  heart  and  head, 

“  Tis  Heaven’s  own  ante-chamber,  this  brightest  Bishop-stead.” 

MY  TRIOLET 

Because  you  like  a  triolet, 

And  joy  of  youth  and  love  and  life, 

Ah  sure,  the  child  you’ll  not  forget 
Because  you  like  a  triolet. 

Then  soon,  ah  soon,  your  wits  you’ll  whet, 

And  do  your  best  to  get  a  wife, 

Because  you  like  a  triolet, 

And  joy  of  youth  and  love  and  life. 


Photo  by  the  Author. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


71 


YE  BONNY  BOYS 

Ye  bonny  boys,  and  fellows  brave, 

Who  ever  shun  grim  Death’s  decoys, 

And  all  the  habits  that  enslave 
Ye  bonny  boys. 

So  play  with  duties  as  with  toys, 

The  higher  heights  sincerely  crave, 

Conscious  of  being  the  King’s  envoys. 

Yes,  rise  on  care  as  cork  on  wave, 

And  climb  and  climb  to  nobler  joys; 

Yet  richest  heritage,  what  ye  gave, 

Ye  bonny  boys. 

A  BALLADE  TO  THE  GIRLS 

Away  with  frowns — away  with  groans! 

And  give  me  the  girls  who  are  glad  and  free; 

For  the  wails  of  woman,  they  weaken  my  bones, 
And  make  of  a  man  a  quick  refugee; 

Or  else  he  retorts  with  a  sharp  repartee. 

And  give  me  the  smiles  of  joy  and  beauty, 

The  fellowship  joined  in  a  long  jubilee — 

Yes,  the  girls  who  live  for  love  and  duty. 

It  costs  but  a  little  to  make  such  loans, 

And  dunce  is  the  man  who  dares  disagree. 
They’re  better  than  riches  and  glittering  thrones; 
They’re  better  for  all  and  better  for  thee. 

Then  scatter  the  smiles  from  sea  to  sea, 

Less  fleeting  than  fame  and  more  than  booty. 

0  give  me  the  ones  in  perpetual  glee, 

Yes,  the  girls  who  live  for  love  and  duty. 

The  wise  man  his  frowns  ever  gladly  postpones, 
And  gives  of  his  strength  to  you  and  to  me; 

His  sorrow  and  woe  he  forever  disowns — 

The  mortal  like  him  treads  a  Heaven-lit  lea, 

And  the  outdying  goal  is  pleasant  to  see. 

The  fellow  that  frowns  is  ugly  and  sooty; 

Ah,  save  me  from  him,  for  the  good  guarantee, 
Yes,  the  girls  who  live  for  love  and  duty. 

Envoy 

All  praise  to  the  girls  who  are  busy  as  a  bee, 

But  fie  to  the  man  who’s  stoney  and  rooty; 

And  the  fellow  as  well  who’s  too  fond  of  his  fee — 
Yes,  the  girls  who  live  for  love  and  duty. 


72 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


A  MOUNTAIN  TOP  VIEW 

Escaping  the  town  with  its  dust  and  din, 

A  wayfarer  was  asked  to  come  within 
A  lovely  home  on  a  mountain  height, 

To  rest  awhile  and  be  sated  with  sight 
Of  the  beauties  within  and  glories  without, 
That  ever  encircle  far-famed  Lookout. 

From  city  to  summit  the  walk  was  far, 

But  gliding  along  in  the  trolley  car, 
Forsaking  the  valley  and  climbing  the  side, 
The  city  was  distanced  in  a  two-fold  stride; 
Its  smoke  rolled  beneath,  its  din  died  away, 
With  toilers’  tramp  at  the  closing  day. 


Part  of  Chattanooga  and  Lookout  Mountain. 

Th  is  home  was  “La  Brisa;”  for  pure  mountain  air 
Played  around  its  sides  and  its  frontage  fair, 
Uplifting  yet  higher  the  travel-worn  guest, 

As  he  feasted  to  the  full,  and  enjoyed  sweet  rest; 
While  music  came  forth  and  fellowship  flowed — 
With  lofty  delights  the  company  glowed. 

The  low-lying  city  became  all  ablaze 
With  myriad  lights  and  their  countless  rays, 

The  moon  and  the  stars  were  reigning  above, 

While  far-twinkling  lights  threw  kisses  of  love 
To  wayfarer  and  friends,  caught  up  between 
The  city  of  light  and  the  heavens  serene. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


73 


Ah,  ’tis  mountain  top  views  that  enrich  the  dull  earth, 
Where  high  hopes  and  deeds  have  divinest  birth; 
Where  Abram  and  Moses  and  prophets  of  old 
The  evil  and  good,  yea  the  best  foretold. 

And  men  even  now  must  mount  the  high  hills 
To  inspire  them  beneath  with  conquering  wills. 

Here  the  church  up-rose  and  “the  old  ship  of  State,” 
Here  angels  meet  men  that  listen  and  wait; 

The  King  from  his  throne  will  deign  to  come  down 
To  acclaim  his  own,  and  with  glory  crown 
The  soul  sincere,  who  cries  from  his  heart 
For  some  new  song — some  high  born  art. 

At  last  the  dust  and  the  din  of  earth’s  way 
Will  shine  in  rapture  of  our  toiling  day; 

The  narrow  path  trod,  the  rugged  way  too, 

Will  glow  with  a  beauty  we  never  knew, 

In  the  coming  new  Morn  on  the  Mountain  fair, 
Translated  with  Christ  in  his  glorified  air. 

ONE  AGED  JOHN  SMITH  AND  HIS  YOUTHFUL 

CONFESSIONS 

Your  smiles  and  love  you  freely  lend — 

How  old  are  you,  my  jolly  friend? 

‘  Just  seventy-three;  but  pray  don’t  tell; 

A  widower  I,  out  for  a  spell. 

The  pretty  girls,  I  love  them  all; 

They  bounce  my  heart  like  a  rubber  ball; 

One  moment  I  rise  and  the  next  I  fall — 

I  cannot  help  it.” 

“I  loved  my  wife  who’s  dead  and  gone, 

In  the  distant  days  my  paragon — 

She  used  to  say,  ‘0  quit  your  looking,’ 

But  in  spite  of  her,  my  neck  kept  crooking 
Around  to  feast  upon  the  lovely  face, 

The  perfect  figure  full  of  grace — 

It  never  seemed  to  me  so  base — 

I  told  my  wife,  sir; 

I  couldn’t  help  it.” 

“If  God  himself  told  me  to  quit  it, 

I’d  say,  0  slay  me!  or  else  permit  it. 

The  smiling  face,  the  enchanting  eye, 

The  rosy  cheek  of  the  maiden  shy — 

They  grip  me,  sir,  with  hooks  of  steel; 

My  eyes  run  fast;  my  brain  will  reel, 

And  my  heart  will  feel — 

Frankly,  sir,  I  cannot  help  it.” 


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Near  Nature’s  Heart 


“Tis  true,  my  teeth  went  long  ago; 

Now  painless  ones  I  have,  you  know. 

Yet  1  visit  oft  in  my  tar-heel  town 
A  store  and  a  girl  in  a  showy  gown, 

To  buy  her  gum  and  soothing  smile; 

You  scarce  believe  me,  it’s  many  a  mile 
I  thus  have  trod  with  loving  guile — 

And  one  day  laughing  my  teeth  fell  down, 

In  her  presence,  sir, 

I  could  not  help  it.” 

“That  winsome  girl  who  serves  our  table — 

I  vow  that  I  am  quite  unable 
To  keep  my  eyes  from  following  her, 

As  tail  doth  horse,  neath  whip  and  spur; 

I’m  honest  sir; 

I  cannot  help  it. 

“My  little  dog — he’s  just  a  fice — - 
Returns  my  love,  his  paradise. 

I  brought  him  down  to  Florida; 

But  the  finest  dog  in  all  America 
Can’t  take  the  place  of  a  girl  so  sweet — 

From  crown  to  sole  of  her  dainty  feet, 

My  love’s  complete — 

And,  it’s  all  the  truth,  sir, 

I  cannot  help  it.” 

“Just  seventy-three — 

’Tis  plenty  for  me, 

I  wish  it  were  less, 

But  nevertheless  this  girl  of  eighteen 
Could  rule  me  as  queen; 

And  have  all  I  possess, 

For  her  sweetest  caress — - 

Sir,  by  the  Lord  and  His  goodness, 

I  cannot  help  it!” 

AN  ODE  ON  WOODROW  WILSON  AND  THE  LEAGUE 

OF  NATIONS 

I. 

In  all  the  cycles  past  the  good  and  wise 
Have  dreamed  of  Wisdom’s  way; 

The  prophets’  eyes 

Could  see,  and  they  foretold  the  day, 

The  glory  of  the  coming  paradise; 

And  higher  far  than  lofty  prophets  bold, 

In  every  stage 
Of  human  rage, 

The  God  of  hosts  hath  willed  his  vast,  united  fold. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


75 


Congressman  Upshaw,  after  a  personal  appeal  to  Mr.  Wilson  on 
February  17,  1923,  wired  the  author:  “Hard  to  overcome  fixed  rule  of 
former  President,”  in  refusing  his  photograph  and  autograph  for  pub¬ 
lication;  hut  we  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  both  to  his  friends. 


6 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


II. 

And  poets  great  have  felt  the  need, 

As  plain  they  saw  the  greed 
Of  men  and  nations  waging  war, 

They  knew  not  why,  yet  brothers  all. 

Their  voice  is  heard  from  heights  afar; 

They  tell  us  why  the  peoples  rise  and  fall; 

They  sang  and  on  the  hill  tops  wrought, 

While  dupe  and  knave  went  down; 

They  knew  the  last  of  Folly’s  battles  would  be  fought. 

III. 

Obstructionists  abide,  alas  in  State, 

The  demagogue  and  fool, 

The  dullard  in  his  school, 

Who  far  behind  the  generation  plods, 

Yet  at  God’s  leader  casts  rough  stones  and  clods — 

Wise  men  foresee  their  fate. 

Without  insight  they  still  refuse  to  follow 
The  men  inspired,  high  Heaven’s  men; 

Preferring  far  their  narrow  ken, 

To  vaunt  themselves,  though  cause  of  fearful  sorrow. 
The  while  the  great  move  on 
In  God’s  high  road, 

With  heavy  load; 

Becoming  weary  and  living  lone, 

Oft  forced  to  suffer  and  to  moan — 

At  last  to  die! 

But  Heaven  clears  away  the  cloud  from  the  martyr’s  sky. 

IV. 

The  race  of  men  is  a  long  and  wondrous  evolution; 

The  patient  soul  who  kens,  and  God’s  great  goal, 

Is  benefactor  best,  the  man  of  resolution 
To  mark  and  void  each  shoal, 

Like  pilots  good  of  worthy  ships, 

Whose  eyes  are  used  far  more  than  lips. 

He  counter  vessels  must  prevent, 

And  every  vexing  accident, 

By  night  and  day  upon  the  deep. 

Men’s  revolutions,  small  or  great,  and  why, 

The  leader  must  discern  and  know, 

And  records  old,  aye  currents  vital  passing  by, 

To  make  them  rightly  flow. 

And  never  was  the  pregnant  day,  nor  hour, 

When  one  of  such  transcendent  power 
Was  needed  by  the  race, 

With  more  than  human  grace. 

Let  men  in  church  and  state  be  confident, 

He  was  the  man  of  men  pre-eminent. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


77 


V. 

The  future  holds  for  him  the  fullest  meed, 

For  best  of  deeds  before  he  fell  a  prey, 

The  patient  man,  still  prophet  of  the  perfect  day, 

When  none  shall  be  a  slave; 

And  none  in  need. 

American, 

And  cosmopolitan, 

He  made  and  mounted  the  on-sweeping  wave. 

No  ruler  with  so  good  and  vast  a  scheme; 

In  labors  so  engrossed  for  noblest  creed — - 
A  wide  and  warring  world  to  win  and  save, 

Fulfillment  of  the  greatest  dream, 

To  give  the  nations  peace  and  prosperity  supreme. 

ANOTHER  BIRTHDAY 

One  birthday  more  has  rolled  around, 

But  still  my  heart  is  in  its  youth; 

Though  sixty  fleeting  years  I’ve  found, 

One  birthday  more  has  rolled  around; 

Yet  not  my  body  underground. 

The  song  is  best  when  sung  in  truth: 

One  birthday  more  has  rolled  around, 

But  still  my  heart  is  in  its  youth. 

OH  BABY  MINE 

My  baby,  Oh  my  laughing,  baby  child, 

What  God-like  joy  you  give! 

Since  I  received  you,  how  He  has  smil’d 
And  made  me  love  and  live, 

Oh  baby  mine! 

Some  sorrow  I  have  had,  some  deep 
delight, 

And  much  the  even  way; 

Some  views  attract  of  vale  and  moun¬ 
tain  height, 

But  naught  like  you,  each  day, 

Oh 

Oh  baby  mine,  0  sweetest  baby  mine, 
What  angel  makes  you  laugh? 

What  silent  tempter  makes  you  cry 
and  whine? 

But  more  of  wheat  than  chaff, 

Oh  baby  mine! 


baby  mine! 


Snap  shot  by  the  Author. 


78 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


Your  coming  days  are  all  unknown  to  me, 
Your  pitfall,  or  your  pest; 

But  God  is  good;  I  trust  and  pray  that  He 
May  hold  you  to  His  breast, 

Oh  baby  mine! 


THE  SNAKE  THAT’S  KING 

The  snake  that’s  king  deserves  his  crown, 
Above  his  kind  in  wood  and  town; 

For  man  was  ne’er  bit  by  the  king, 
Though  snake-fond  ones  to  him  will  cling; 
But  I  prefer  no  such  renown. 

With  hoys  I  frolic  up  and  down, 

The  playful  kids  who  never  frown; 

And  small  respect  at  times  I  fling 
The  snake — that’s  king. 

0  Muse,  tell  me  the  oldest  clown; 

Why  fickle  Eve  preferred  no  gown; 

And  why  she  ceased  at  once  to  sing, 

And  deigned  within  her  heart  to  bring 
The  Snake  that’s  king? 


Picture  of  a  King  Snake  nearly  five  feet  long,  swallowing  a  somewhat  shorter  Rattler, 

after  a  struggle  which  lasted  for  two  hours. 

Photograph  by  Mr.  Alfred  Austell  near  Atlanta,  Ga. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


79 


THE  HEART  OF  FRANCE 

0  France,  beloved;  fickle,  fearless  France! 

What  heights  are  thine  and  what  unfathomed  depths, 
From  Roman  old  and  Jupiter  the  great, 

To  Notre  Dame  and  her  eternal  day. 

Thy  famous  little  "‘lie  de  la  cite,” 

Birth  place  of  Paris  and  a  state  renowned, 

And  buoyant  bosom  of  thy  ceaseless  Seine 
Were  wronged  by  Vandal  and  the  vicious  Gaul, 
Coveted  long  by  kings,  and  last  by  cunning  Kaiser. 
Within,  around  thy  growing  heart,  now  gay, 

Now  sad,  now  brave  and  true,  now  sick  and  vile, 
Epitome  of  man  and  race  of  men, 

Foretaste  of  Heaven  and  prelude  to  Hell — 

Thy  lovers,  far  and  near,  have  felt  and  fought, 

0  France,  for  thee,  and  for  thy  perfect  day. 


NOTRE  DAME. 


Thy  Notre  Dame  of  yore  and  now — behold 
What  records  writ,  and  deeds  unwritten  more ! 
Begun  as  shrine  to  gods  unknown,  but  feared, 
Again  the  seat  of  power  of  the  saints; 

Both  natal  place  and  tomb  of  King  and  priest; 
Dream  attained  of  artist  pioneer; 

And  pomp  and  rites  as  varied  as  striking  grand, 
Which  brought  the  fathers  from  Jerusalem, 

The  Romish  pope  to  altars,  solemn,  high; 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


When  prayer,  and  priestly  pride  through  chapels  ran 
With  song  of  marching  choir,  from  narthex  bold, 
And  transept,  double  bay  and  nave  and  vault, 

To  over-topping  spire,  ambitious,  firm — 

What  wondrous  song  from  such  exalted  throng! 

And  laughing  devils,  perched  on  airy  stage; 

Stryge,  with  arms  on  parapet  for  ease; 

Grim  face  upheld  by  hands  of  demon  long, 

Tongue  out,  and  worn  with  everlasting  sneer; 

And  leering  ape,  and  nameless  creatures;  beasts 
Obscene;  and  unclean  birds  of  prey  around, 

Above  thy  true  yet  hybrid  art;  a  cow, 

Half  woman,  arms  of  her  in  comfort  crossed, 

With  evil  eye  beholds  the  temples  ’neath 
St.  Etienne,  St.  Jacque,  and  St.  Denis, 

The  “Hotel  Dieu,’'  Justice  Palace,  Law! 

See  hungry  ghouls,  and  vampires,  never  sated, 

Fiends  eyeing  Paris,  gibing,  mocking  all; 

And  cat  alive  and  wild,  like  devil  dead 
Revived,  hath  climbed  on  precipice  of  stone, 

Creeping,  howling,  groaning,  pained  much; 

Then  plunging  far,  as  if  pursued  by  ghost. 

And  stories  of  the  garden,  curdling  blood, 

Of  lunatic  and  felon’s  leap  to  death — 

The  whole  a  hell  around  fair  Notre  Dame, 

Her  place  and  portion,  part  of  thine,  0  France! 

Alas,  our  boys — let  angels  weep — our  sons 
Who  went  to  aid  of  thee,  pure  as  the  Virgin 
Mary  some,  our  soldier  sons  in  air, 

On  earth,  and  underneath  were  tempted,  caught 
By  countess  cunning,  rich  but  fallen  far; 

Entrapped,  diseased  by  women,  living  hells, 

That  move  and  search  and  laugh  and  win  and  damn! 
Indecencies  of  men — God  save  the  race, 

That  human  virtue  may  not  die  at  last! 

0  France,  all  this  is  not  thy  nobler  heart, 

What  love  and  honor  thou  hast  ever  shown; 

What  triumph  for  thyself,  for  us  and  all! 

Thy  virtue  dieth  not,  nor  truth,  nor  those 
Inspired  of  Heaven  through  the  ages  past, 

The  now  and  evermore;  these  lofty  hosts 
And  we,  who  love  aright,  will  see  thy  soul, 

All  torn  by  vice  and  mocking  devils,  whole; 
Triumphant  over  foes  without,  within. 

Thy  Notre  Dame,  thy  little  hells,  0  France; 

The  good  and  evil,  working  both — but  God! 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


81 


THE  RED  MAPLE 

A  master  artist  in  the  sun-kissed  leaves 
Of  a  scarlet  maple  loved  by  me  for  years, 

First  paints  a  verdant  robe  until  appears 
The  autumn  time,  then  marvel  great  conceives. 
Through  darkest  night,  high  noon,  and  splendent  eves 
His  wondrous  work  goes  on,  unknown  to  fears, 
Although  my  maple  has  her  unshed  tears, 

Until  her  greatest  glory  he  achieves. 

Then  yields  she  all  her  riches  quite  content; 

For  man  and  bird  and  beast  her  life  is  spent; 

In  turn  to  every  tree  hath  prophesied, 

To  mortal  man  hath  plainly  said,  “The  best 
Waits  him  who  gives  his  all,  then  goes  to  rest; 

Thus  life  and  even  death  are  glorified." 

A  SONNET  TO  MRS.  0.  C.  BULLOCK 

Again  rare  riches  thou  hast  gently  shown, 

And  I  drink  sweetness  from  thy  royal  heart. 

Again  I  rise  and  claim  the  nobler  part, 

And  bless  the  friendship  in  thee  made  known. 

Full  forty  years,  in  public  or  alone, 

I’ve  studied  men,  high  heaven  s  sovereign  art 
And  thee — thy  virtue’s  smiles,  and  whence  they  start, 
Adoring  Truth’s  sweet  balm,  which  is  thine  own. 

Let  turmoils  come  and  go;  let  fools  foment 
Disaster  dire,  till  many  shall  lament 
Their  natal  hour,  their  present  lot  and  all. 

Thy  friendship  true,  which  grows  from  hud  to  bloom 
And  fruit  eternal,  dissipates  all  gloom — 

Again  I’ve  entered  love’s  pure  banquet  hall. 

THE  STRIKERS 

The  strikers  call  for  more  and  more; 

For  they  sail  a  sea  without  a  shore; 

Ah,  yes,  they’ll  strike  forever  more! 

Let  merit  go,  it  were  a  sin 
For  any  plan  but  a  strike  to  win; 

And  hence  they  strike  forever  more! 

No  brother  they  to  the  monied  man; 

The  law  of  love— “Oh  damn  the  plan! 

We’ll  vote  to  strike  forever  more!” 


82 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


The  public  is  pleased;  ’tis  a  joy  each  day 
To  the  folks  at  home,  without  a  way; 

So  why  not  strike  forever  more? 

For  coal  and  food,  let  a  nation  suffer; 

Let  good  and  bad  be  made  a  buffer — 

Yes,  plan  to  strike  forever  more. 

Our  hard-fought  war  with  the  hot-headed-Hun 
Was  children’s  play  compared  to  the  fun 
That  strikes  produce  forever  more. 

Their  wives  and  children  mustn’t  whine 
Without  their  part,  ’tis  ever  so  fine, 

The  strikers’  way  forever  more. 

Alas,  the  blind,  who  makes  the  broom 
Has  threatened  quits  till  crack  of  doom — 
Unless  he  gets  a  plenty  and  more. 

And  teacher  too  who  trains  the  child 
Is  asked  to  join  the  force  that’s  wild, 

And  close  the  school  forever  more! 

Let  wisdom  go — ’tis  a  hy-gone  game; 

The  striker’s  god  must  win  his  fame — 

Ah,  strike  and  strike  forever  more. 

*■»*** 

“Come  now,”  says  God,  “and  let  us  reason, 

In  every  way,  in  every  season, 

Bar  strikes  of  force  forever  more .” 


NOVEMBER’S  GLOOM 

With  chill  November  mist  in  darkened  air, 

With  hearts  of  men  imbued  with  doubt  and  gloom; 
And  in  the  wide,  wide  world  no  couch,  no  room; 

No  rest  for  weary  feet;  with  friends  unfair, 

Or  cannot  understand,  nor  yet  can  hear 
To  bring  one  hud  of  friendship’s  failing  bloom; 
Affection  gone  that  once  hailed  bride  and  groom — 
Ah  then,  ’tis  triumph  true,  or  death’s  despair. 

And  yet  November’s  night  of  gloom  and  grief 
Hath  unseen  power  to  bring  sweet  trust, 

If  men  but  turn  their  minds  of  unbelief 
To  One  whose  name  is  Love,  whose  ways  are  just; 
Then  be  the  battle  sharp  and  long,  or  brief, 

The  soul  is  safe,  that  sings,  “/  can  and  must” 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


OO 

oo 


JAMES  MITCHEL  ROGERS 

While  face  to  face  with  him  I  plainly  feel 
A  something  in  my  heart  and  open  mind 
That  prompts  an  eager  search,  perchance  to  find 
The  unknown  source  of  such  a  strong  appeal. 

A  rip’ning  fruit,  I  ask,  of  earth’s  ideal? 

Or  full  blown  rose,  to  all  its  beauty  blind? 

Or  tree  of  life  within  the  mad  mart’s  grind — 

Oh  what  o’er  me  in  power  doth  sweetly  steal? 

In  truth  his  inmost  soul  is  full  of  light, 

A  shining  constant  from  afar,  yet  bright, 

An  humble,  potent  life  not  his  nor  man’s, 

Increasing  gently  through  his  crowning  years, 

And  freeing  him  from  all  the  sinner’s  fears — 

Ah  yes,  he’s  one  of  God’s  unthwarted  plans. 

ERWIN  HOLT 

In  life’s  highway  I  meet  all  sorts  of  men, 

The  loud-mouthed  man  or  human  thunderbolt; 

Then  smiles  on  me  a  man  of  head  and  heart, 

A  gentle,  noble  soul  like  Erwin  Holt. 

Another  man  is  ever  in  a  rut, 

To  self  and  all  a  weary,  lifeless  dolt; 

Like  showers  then  to  thirsty  famished  earth 
Are  spirit  life  and  deeds  of  Erwin  Holt. 

Still  other  men  are  working  hard  for  pelf, 

And  passing  give  your  peaceful  heart  a  jolt; 

What  joy  to  turn  away  from  men  like  these, 

And  feel  the  healing  balm  of  Erwin  Holt. 

Oh  for  more  men  who’re  full  of  highest  life, 

Who  ’gainst  all  vileness  join  in  strong  revolt, 

With  mind  to  think  and  hand  to  ever  bless 
Their  fellowmen  like  happy  Erwin  Holt. 

JUST  AN  INTRODUCTION 

Allow  me  please,  to  present  to  you 
A  queenly  girl  and  a  cockatoo — 

Sweet  Agnes  she,  and  her  name  means 
“chase,” 

And  the  bird,  in  truth,  has  native  grace. 

When  captured  by  their  mystic  spell, 

Which  charms  me  most  I  cannot  tell; 

For  beauty  and  goodness  at  heart  are  one — 
All  hail  to  “Billy”  and  Miss  Cameron! 


Photo  by  the  Author. 


84 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


JUDGE  FRANKLIN  CHASE  HOYT, 
Presiding  Over  the  Childrens’  Court,  New  York  City. 


JUDGE  FRANKLIN  CHASE  HOYT 

In  cause  and  city  great,  a  jurist  great, 

For  every  mother’s  child  a  kindly  heart; 

Stern  Justice  he  would  join  to  Mercy’s  art, 

For  sire  and  son,  a  vision  high  create; 

For  all  the  hopeless  ones  the  path  elate. 

Ah,  future  generations  will  he  start, 

Through  children  now,  to  choose  the  better  part, 
And  trustful  follow  Him  immaculate. 

Hark  ye,  to  Christ’s  own  playful  lambs  astray, 
Who  reach  the  desert  place  and  jungle  deep; 
From  city  slum,  and  far-off  mountain  steep, 

They  call  and  plead  for  everlasting  day — 

Not  bitter  night,  but  some  untrodden  way, 

No  matter  how  they  play,  nor  wide  their  sweep. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


85 


A  LITTLE  INDEX  OF  THE  COMING  DAY 

The  loveliest  sight  on  the  coast  I  saw, 

Was  little  Ann  Gray  with  her  pet  macaw, 

A  trustful  bird  in  the  hands  of  Ann, 

But  woe  to  the  stranger,  or  hostile  man. 

Though  upside  down,  twas  the  very  thing, 
When  under  the  rule  of  his  lover’s  wing: 

Some  stunts  to  do,  that  he’d  never  tried, 

But  that’s  all  right,  when  his  friend  is  guide. 


Snapped  by  the  Author  at  the  Home  of  Paul  R.  Gray  on  Belle  Isle, 

Miami,  Fla.,  March  17,  1920. 


So  every  creature,  bird  and  beast, 

From  animal  great  to  the  very  least, 

Will  some  day  see  with  different  eyes, 

When  men  grow  kind  and  good  and  wise. 

The  lion  fierce  shall  fondle  the  lamb, 

When  men  shall  follow  the  great  I  Am, 

And  wolf  shall  play  with  the  sportive  kid, 
When  earth  of  hate  and  murder  is  rid — 

When  the  great  and  small  shall  learn  to  be  mild, 
In  the  kingdom  of  Christ  and  a  little  child. 


86 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


THE  WINGED  TOURISTS 

It  is  time  to  be  revived, 

And  the  tourists  have  arrived, 

The  Robins  from  the  land  of  snow  and  ice, 

By  the  score  and  by  the  hundred; 

So  many  that  I’ve  wondered 
Where  plenteous  food  could  be,  and  paradise. 

But  listen  to  their  cheering, 

For  there’s  no  profiteering, 

In  mulberry  and  stately  cabbage  palm; 

Instead  the  trees  would  say: 

“We’re  ready  for  this  day, 

And  welcome  birds  and  people  to  our  balm. 

“We’ve  endured  the  blazing  sun, 

Through  the  summer  for  the  fun 
Of  freest  song  and  abundant  feasting  fine; 

While  you  yourselves  employ, 

In  song  and  sumptuous  joy, 

Remember  we  are  drinking  Heaven’s  wine. 

“  ’Tis  better  far  to  live, 

That  we  may  freely  give — 

Far  better  and  more  God-like  in  us  all. 

See  Black-birds  fly  around, 

Alighting  on  the  ground, 

While  the  Mocking-birds’  hosannahs  loudly  call. 

“And  yonder  in  the  waters  free, 

Blue  Herons  and  white  Egrets  see; 

Thus  far  have  they  escaped  the  tyrant,  Pride. 

The  Ducks  are  diving  for  their  food, 

And,  hit  or  miss,  they  still  are  good — 

In  all  no  groom  unfriendly  to  his  bride! 

“The  Cardinal  and  Wren, 

From  farthest  hill  and  glen, 

Have  joined  the  busy  Downy  in  a  tree; 

While  other  birds  delight 
In  song  from  morn  till  night — 

Come,  sing  aloud  and  join  our  jubilee!” 

HOW  MY  EASTER  DAWNED 

In  a  pullman  smoker  the  tourists  sat, 

All  reading  the  news  of  the  day, 

When  suddenly  started  a  lively  chat 
On  the  League  and  the  Wilson  way. 

The  travellers  argued  with  their  pro  and  con ; 

And  loudly  and  fiercely  they  swore; 

While  some  of  them  tired,  and  others  looked  wan, 
And  I  was  silent  and  sore. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


O' 

O 


For  the  Easter  season  was  drawing  nigh, 

And  I  was  perusing  “Life;” 

My  soul  was  nursing  an  inward  cry; 

And  I  hated  the  oaths  and  strife — 

The  war  of  words  on  the  blessing  of  peace, 
And  taking  God’s  name  in  vain; 

From  the  turmoil  I  craved  a  quick  release, 
From  the  hellish  noise  on  the  train; 

When  suddenly  came  two  lovely  tots  , 

With  the  father  a-near  their  side; 

Then  lo,  there  ceased  the  fiery  shots; 

The  children  had  turned  the  tide. 

Like  a  sun-burst  bright  on  a  stormy  morn, 
Like  flowers  in  the  valley  of  death, 

The  children  advanced,  and  joy  was  horn, 

With  the  sweetness  of  Heaven’s  breath. 

They  turned  and  climbed  to  the  lower  berth, 
Just  over  the  passage  from  mine; 

And  there  my  ears  caught  the  wisdom  of  earth, 
And  the  faith  from  Jehovah’s  shrine: 

“Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep; 
l  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep.” 


The  Tots  that  Turned  the  Tide.  Photo  by  the  Author. 

My  mind  went  back  to  my  earliest  days, 

At  the  side  of  my  mother’s  knee; 

My  hungry  soul  sang  a  fervent  praise, 

And  my  heart  was  happy  and  free. 

I  dreamed  of  the  damnable  wars  of  men, 

Of  the  havoc  that  Death  has  made; 

Of  a  Prince  who  died  and  arose  again, 

With  power  each  grave  to  invade. 

And  dreaming  I  caught  a  holier  note, 

No  melody  horn  of  the  sod; 

And  I  blest  the  old  saint  who  heard  and  wrote, 
“Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  God.” 

And  children  1  heard,  around  the  throne, 
Formed  a  vast  and  caroling  throng, 

With  the  glorious  Prince  still  leading  his  own, 
All  singing  their  Easter  song. 


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Near  Nature’s  Heart 


HELEN  KELLER 

In  darkness  deep  by  day  and  night, 

A  fettered  child  without  a  ray — 

No  word  of  speech,  no  sound,  no  sight 
To  lift  a  soul  to  Heaven’s  day. 

But  Patience  came  in  Love’s  sweet  way, 

And  smiled  and  wept  and  wept  and  smiled, 
With  failure  oft,  yet  would  essay 
To  lighten  the  mind  of  a  captive  child. 

What  mortal  e’er  in  such  a  plight? 

What  twain  beset  with  such  dismay, 

As  guide  and  child  in  the  long  drawn  fight 
To  lift  a  soul  to  Heaven’s  day? 

No  victor  great,  no  ruler’s  sway, 

Reveals  such  triumph,  pure  and  mild; 

No  leader  nobler  zeal  portray, 

To  lighten  the  mind  of  a  captive  child. 

And  darkness  gross  and  many  a  blight 
Leave  other  children  far  astray; 

And  they  call  loud  for  some  brave  knight 
To  lift  a  soul  to  Heaven’s  day. 

Then  who  the  priceless  pearl  will  pay, 

To  lift  a  soul  so  dark  and  wild, 

From  the  deepest  pit,  as  a  piece  of  clay — - 
To  lighten  the  mind  of  a  captive  child? 

Envoy 

’Tis  faith  and  work,  with  hope’s  delay, 

To  lift  a  soul  to  Heaven’s  day, 

From  Night’s  dim  depths,  by  love  beguiled, 

To  lighten  the  mind  of  a  captive  child. 

MARY  GRAY 

Here’s  to  each  Mary  from  first  to  last; 

To  Virgin  holy,  heaven’s  primal  queen, 

And  deepest  penitent,  the  Magdalene; 

Hail  Marys  many  through  the  long,  long  past, 
From  proudest  princess  down  to  poor  outcast. 

A  myriad  of  them  I’ve  heard  and  seen, 

Some  strong,  some  weak  and  few  of  sober  mein 
How  varied  they,  and  fervent  hopes  how  vast ! 

At  length  the  Mary  comes,  delighting  me  best; 
Her  head’s  safe-guarded  by  the  purest  heart, 
Enriching  childhood’s  state  with  princely  zest 
To  work  devoted,  and  would  ever  display 
Rule  over  Mammon  for  the  noblest  art — 

All  honor  and  long  life  to  Mary  Gray! 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


89 


THE  DANCING  TASSEL 

The  female  preacher  both  smiled  and  exhorted, 
While  around  her  fair  cheek  and  back  to  her  ear, 
Her  long,  gay  tassel  danced  and  cavorted. 

And  the  more  men  looked  the  less  they  could  hear, 
For  lo,  the  dancing  tassel. 

And  the  wonderful  thing,  'twas  a  Quaker  tassel, 

On  a  Quaker  hat,  on  a  Friend's  high  head, 

Who  in  pulpit  reigned  like  a  queen  in  a  castle, 
While  the  souls  of  men  just  longed  to  he  fed — 
But  there,  that  dancing  tassel. 

As  her  nose  went  up  the  tassel  went  down; 

While  ever  it  flirted,  and  ever  it  played 
Its  prominent  part  as  one  with  a  crown — 

In  the  audience  many  who  might  have  prayed; 

But  ho!  that  dancing  tassel. 

Her  kid-gloved-hand  was  constant  in  motion, 

And  busy  my  mind  to  follow  all  three, 

The  tassel,  the  glove,  and  the  word  of  devotion; 
But  most  active  of  all  in  this  trinity, 

That  ever-dancing  tassel. 

I  suppose  I  should  be  so  pious  and  good, 

As  to  shut  my  eyes  fast  to  any  dancing  thing, 

And  he  anywhere  in  a  heavenly  mood, 

But  somehow  my  soul  kept  up  the  swing 
Of  that  flouncing,  dancing  tassel. 


90 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


WALTER  MALONE,  Poet,  Jurist  ami  Philosopher. 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


91 


WALTER  MALONE 

The  dreaming  lad  saw  life  as  intricate, 

And  learned  to  solve  and  sing  in  buoyant  youth; 
For  fallen  ones,  was  filled  with  tender  ruth, 

For  all  he  pondered  deeply,  soon  and  late; 

A  gentle  friend  and  wise,  fraternal  mate, 

Who  darkness  saw  where  light  should  be  and  truth, 
Despite  the  ways  of  thief,  and  heartless  sleuth — 
A  prophet  bold  to  plan  and  then  create. 

Immortal  bard,  far  seeing,  earnest  man, 

Who  knew  the  height  and  depth  of  Heaven’s  plan, 
To  turn  our  feeble  wail  to  sweetest  tone — 

Thy  “Opportunity”*  thou  didst  employ 
To  animate  and  lead  with  rhythmic  joy, 

Thy  friends  and  fellows  up  to  Heaven’s  throne. 


*The  title  of  his  most  famous  poem. 


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Near  Nature's  Heart 


THE  DUTIFUL  FLOWER 

Bright  morning  glory, 

In  brief  you  tell, 

With  magic  spell, 

A  wondrous,  mystic  story 
Of  life  and  beauty. 

May  I  please  God  so  well, 

Inspiring  in  the  sons  of  men  delight  and  duty. 

MY  HOLIDAY 

(Inscribed  to  C.  L.  Anderson,  H.  C.  Bagley,  S.  R.  Belk,  J.  N.  McEachern 

and  A.  R.  Holderby.) 

The  month  of  May  for  a  holiday — 

Now  what  do  you  think  of  that? 

With  Nature  to  stay  for  her  matinee — 

Up  high  I  ll  throw  my  hat. 

“Quite  sick,”  they  say,  in  the  month  of  May; 

And  the  doctors  all  stood  pat; 

Yes,  truly  astray,  unfit  for  the  fray; 

Indeed  I  had  fallen  flat, 

Till  the  month  of  May,  my  holiday, 

Near  Nature’s  heart  whereat 
I’ll  doff  decay,  with  all  dismay, 

And  with  her  grow  strong  and  fat. 

The  month  of  May  for  peace  and  play, 

When  the  birds  so  fondly  chat; 

When  the  old  and  gray  must  Life  obey, 

Like  a  full  fledged  bouncing  brat. 

All  hail  to  May  and  to  friends  for  aye! 

The  friends  who  in  council  sat, 

And  said,  “We  pray,  take  the  month  of  May, 

And  live  in  a  beautiful  plat.” 

Hooray,  hooray,  for  my  holiday! 

I’ll  be  a  master  at  the  bat; 

Without  delay  I’ll  mount  my  way, 

As  high  as  Ararat. 

THE  AEOLIAN  HARP 

What  mysterious  music  is  that? 

Whence  these  softest  melodies,  soothing  my  inmost  soul? 
What  symphony  orchestra  over  the  hills 
Sends  me  its  sweetest  strains, 

These  chords  of  subdued  sorrow  mingled  with  joy  of  gentleness? 
Or  what  angel  deigns  to  float  down  to  me 
Such  mild,  musical  waves, 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


93 


Which  captivate  yet  elude? 

What  or  who  and  where? 

The  richest  radio  this,  and  the  first,  of  the  ascending  years? 
I  ask  myself,  being  alone,  and  I  seek  to  answer. 

I  listen  still. 

My  awakened  soul  is  rising; 

I  look  around,  all  around. 

I  continue  to  think,  and  very  gently  Truth  appears. 

What? 

Yes,  the  winds,  the  winged  winds,  have  joyfully  yielded 
To  the  goddess  Harmony, 

And  together  they  are  producing  this  matchless  marvel. 
My  soul  is  at  peace,  yet  longs  for  more, 

More  of  such  wooing  of  the  eternally  tender  goddess, 
Brought  to  me,  with  approval  of  Aeolius. 


THE  GOD-MAN  AND  MYSELF 

I  answered  truly  with  both  heart  and  head, 

“Not  guilty’’  of  the  things  they  said, 

My  plotting  foes,  with  envy’s  cruel  rod; 

Yet  frailties  mine  oppressively  controlled, 

And  perilous  waves  o’er  me  were  rolled, 

When  lo !  a  symbol  of  the  meek  hut  mighty  God. 

Again  I  saw  and  loved  the  sinner’s  Friend, 

From  first  missteps  to  abysmal  depths  of  his  darkest  end — 
A  friend  to  even  me,  a  crushed  clod. 

But  how,  0  Jesus,  how 
Can  a  stainless  one,  the  such  as  thou, 

Again  receive  a  sinner  like  myself? 

With  weakened  faith  in  thee,  with  pride  and  pelf 
I  went  my  way, 

And  leaned  for  stay 
On  feigned  things  that  fell; 

And  down  I  dropped  to  hell, 

A  bitter  burning  hell, 

A  hell  of  fire,  consuming  fire  within, 

In  a  mind  and  heart  of  sin — 

A  fire  which  broke  out  all  around, 

Because  the  flame  in  me  was  found — 

For  in  the  human  heart  doth  heaven  and  hell  begin. 

But  I  willed,  not  in  such  a  state  to  dwell, 

If,  0  Christ,  1  may  return, 

And  once  more  learn 

The  power  of  thy  love  and  grace. 

While  I  may  not  behold  the  glory  of  thy  face, 

I  only  ask  to  see  and  to  adore, 

As  many  a  penitent  and  I  afore, 


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Near  Nature’s  Heart 


The  prints  of  spear  and  nail  which  with  utmost  woe  were  driven, 
Till  thy  life  and  all  thy  matchless  wealth  were  given 
For  captive  and  vexed  sinners  like  to  me, 

To  set  them  free, 

In  hope  of  peace  and  heaven. 

Since  that  awful  day  the  changing  seasons  have  faster  flown, 
And  what  must  I  to  men  make  known? 

After  the  passing  of  two  thousand  years 
Of  man’s  bravest  fights,  greatest  victories  and  fears, 

With  ofttimes  self-imposed  torment  and  tears, 

Thy  transcendent  heights  for  me  are  more  increased — 

Thou  savest  me,  the  very  least. 

Thou  ancient  and  invisible  1  Am 

Art  one  with  Heaven’s  youthful,  adorable  Lamb, 

For  looking  by  faith  behind  the  veil  I  see 
The  cross  still  piercing  through  thy  very  heart, 

Thy  great  salvation  to  impart; 

And  herein  I’ll  glory  eternally. 

Accept  my  life  and  this  my  final,  whole-hearted  word, 

O  ever  living,  ever  loving,  most  glorious  Lord. 

DEATH’S  DOOM 

Thou  hast  no  sting, 

Terror  none, 

0  doomed  Death; 

My  whole  duty  done, 

I  shall  welcome  thee. 

To  the  vigilant  and  victorious, 

Thou  bringest  the  better, 

Quite  unwittingly, 

The  higher,  and  yet 
The  highest. 

Thou  art  the  open  gate 
To  Life, 

Thou  rapacious  mocker, 

Thy  dark,  grim  visage 
Is  transformed  into  a  beacon  of  light, 

Balmy,  buoyant,  beautiful. 

A  new  glory  has  the  sun 
At  his  setting, 

Giving  yet  greater  beauty  to  his  resplendent  light, 

For  myriads  of  admiring  men, 

For  sated  beasts  and  singing  birds  at  eventide. 

Life-kisses  are  cast  upward 

To  receiving  and  ever  grateful  stars  and  starlets, 


Near  Nature’s  Heart 


95 


Beneficiaries  afar, 

In  their  cosmic  course. 

All  these  and  more  perpetually  pass  on, 

In  holy  and  soft-toned  harmonies, 

The  life-filled  fruitage  of  conquered  Death. 

Angels,  beyond  thy  touch, 

Sing  and  dance, 

On  their  winged  way, 

As  ministers  of  Jehovah, 

Bringing  to  the  so-called  dead 
A  chalice  of  new  life. 

And  perfected  souls  and  saints, 

Giving  forth  with  joy  their  divinest  ministrations, 
Are  co-workers  with  the  Highest, 

For  the  varied  glory  and  ever  increasing  fullness 
Of  eternal  life. 

Th  ou  art  a  misnomer, 

0  arch  Deceiver! 

The  last  lie  thou  art, 

To  be  bravely  faced,  denied,  disproved. 

The  serene, 

The  trustful, 

The  Christ  ones, 

Planting  their  feet 
Upon  thy  bosom, 

All  shadowy  and  unreal, 

Will  proclaim 
The  paeans  of  life, 

Their  holiest  halleluiahs. 

Hence — my  duty  done — 

0  darkest  Death, 

Come  thou  for  me. 

Oft  have  I  banished  thee, 

Having  come  unawares; 

Thou  didst  flee, 

Thou  cunning  coward, 

To  come  again, 

Noiselessly  by  night; 

For  somber  Night  is  thy  craven  consort, 

As  unreal  as  thyself, 

As  non-existent — 

Driven  easily  away, 

By  thy  King’s  coming. 

The  foulest  negation  thou, 

Of  all  the  ages, 

Yet  universal. 


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Near  Nature’s  Heart 


Life’s  cessation? 

Life’s  full  possession! 

Both  false  and  elusive, 

Thou  art  unknown, 

To  shallow  souls, 

And  unknowable; 

Dreadful,  powerful 

Till  met  and  vanquished  whole; 

When  lo! 

Life,  the  Prince  of  Life, 

Holds  me  fast  for  aye, 

And  Death  is  no  more — 

For  me,  no  more. 

THE  DYING  YEAR 

(Written  the  last  of  1922,  a  dark  day  with  continuous  rain,  and  published  in  the 
Atlanta  Constitution,  January  1st,  a  day  of  sunshine  and  life.) 

“My  time  is  up,”  bemoaned  the  dying  year, 

And  Nature  wept  and  freely  spread  her  gloom; 

“My  record  past,  and  I  must  now  make  room 
For  buoyant  youth,  another  still  more  dear. 

Some  comfort  mine  that  weep  my  friends  sincere, 

Thus  easier  I  may  pass  into  my  tomb; 

But  joyful  more  to  speak  a  nobler  boon 

For  those  who  hope  and  trust  and  persevere.” 

And  all  shall  heed  the  inevitable  call, 

From  fragrant  rose  to  chieftain  strong  shall  fall; 

The  greater  they  the  more  widespread  the  grief 
Of  living  men,  the  people  great  and  small, 

But  list,  ye  weeping  ones — 0  sweet  relief — 

It’s  Heaven’s  plan,  through  death  to  Life  for  all! 


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